


More than a Drifter

by Jae_Cillian



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Animal Death, Cowboy AU, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Jason Todd, M/M, Pining, Sharing a Bed, questionable first aid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27228520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jae_Cillian/pseuds/Jae_Cillian
Summary: The man snorted a derisive breath through his nostrils. “Peachy,” he said with a crooked grin, and despite the humor, there was something dangerous—feral—about that smirk. Maybe it was the rugged jawline or the mangled scars, the blood slowly dripping from the split in his lip or the finger tapping at the butt of his gun; but Roy’s instincts sparked aflame. He needed this man. He was the one.Before Roy could fully think it through, he barreled ahead and asked, “You got any plans for the next month?”The man arched an eyebrow, his gaze narrowing as he stared straight at Roy. “No,” he slowly said, the word careful and drawn out with his wariness. “Sounds like you might, though.”--In which Roy hires Jason to accompany him on a trip to pick up an expensive stallion; and while sleeping beneath the stars and hunting rattlesnakes, Roy sees a side to this rough, rugged man that irrevocably stirs Roy's heart.
Relationships: Roy Harper/Jason Todd
Comments: 10
Kudos: 91





	More than a Drifter

“A fool, Harper! A damned fool! You got a death wish or something, boy? No horse is worth dying for. Go find someone else!” The litany of gruntled curses spewed from the man’s mouth as he stomped away from Roy, kicking up dust with every heavy step upon the street.

Roy grabbed his cowboy hat and lifted it from his head. With a weary sigh, he raked his fingers through his long red hair—near fiery orange in the heat of the sun—and his touch trailed all the way to his neck. He rubbed and kneaded at the thick cord of tension there, but it offered him little relief. With a roll of his shoulders, he replaced his light beige hat atop his head and stared out at the bustling town.

He knew it’d be difficult to find the help he needed—what with the Hush Boys rampaging down south—but he figured a couple extra dollars would entice someone. Anyone, really. But even the roughest cowhands who brawled in the saloons on a daily basis spat at his boots and told him to get lost.

Ah man, he really didn’t want to make the trip by himself. The Hush Gang didn’t spook him or anything, but with the amount of money he’d have stashed in his saddle bags, he’d feel just a tad better having an extra gun riding with him. It was a long trip after all. Two weeks, both ways; a month altogether, if they made good time. If not for the added safety, then a little company would do him well.

But it seemed he’d be leaving tomorrow by himself. Three days of searching and asking around, and yet, everyone turned him down.

Roy trudged down the street in the direction of the livery stable where he boarded his horse. His boots thumped along the platform walkway, and he tipped his hat to a couple pretty ladies he passed. As he neared the tavern, raucous piano music streamed through the batwing doors. But its lively tune screeched to a sudden halt when shouts erupted and the crack of knuckles upon flesh echoed into the street. Glass shattered and thuds of what was probably overturned tables and broken chairs had Roy tutting a crooked grin. Poor Wally. It almost served him right, though, for all the times they wrecked that saloon when they were younger and dumber and filled with too much bravado and pride.

It seemed so long ago, and now that kid he grew up with owned the saloon. Wally always shouted about how he’d buy the place out from under that grouchy old man who had them thrown out near every night. It had been a pipe dream at the time. But he’d gone and done it.

And damn, if Roy wasn’t proud of his friend, but right now—as his dream seemed to be slipping from his grasp when it was so damn close, only a two-week’s ride away—his gaze dipped low, and he kicked at the platform walkway.

His shoulders hunched forward, and he stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets. Damn all these yellow-bellied sapsuckers. He didn’t need them. He’d ride down to El Paso and collect his stallion by himself if that’s what it took to finally bring the steed home.

Too caught up in his thoughts, Roy didn’t hear the scuffle of boots or the protesting shout from the saloon. His didn’t even glance up as a man was roughly shoved through the doors by three others.

The man was pushed right into Roy, and the force of their collision had the two of them grabbing at each other and stumbling backward with such speed that when their backs hit the hitching post, they toppled right over it. The pair of horses tied to it snorted and reared. A hoof stomped dangerously close to Roy’s thigh, and he scrambled back onto the platform until his shoulder blade hit the bracing pole of the saloon’s awning.

Breath heaved into his chest as he heard the hearty guffaws and chuckles from the saloon. His eyes darted to the doors, and he glared at the men gathered there. “Apologies, Harper!” one of them called with a laugh. “Didn’t see ya there!”

“Har har,” Roy muttered as he pushed himself up. He brushed the dust from his trousers. With a click of his tongue, he smoothed out his shirt and adjusted the careful rolls of the folded-up sleeves. “Would you look next time, you jackasses!”

The only answer was another round of laughter before the small crowd dispersed back to their drinking and gambling. Roy shook his head and combed sweaty strands of his hair out of his face. He stood there for a moment—nails scratching at his scalp—as he glanced down at the other man.

Having rolled out from under the horses, he sat on the platform with a dreadful sneer and a few choice curses muttered under his breath. Wisps of dark hair curled and fell over the man’s forehead, and in each hand, he held a hat. In his right, a black cattleman with a sharply curled brim, worn and dusty but shining with the small rounded conchos adorning its band. In his left, he held Roy’s beige hat with its woven horsehair band.

With a grunt, the man stood and knocked the hats together to dislodge some of the dust and dirt from the street. He settled his own atop his head, and then stepped onto the platform to face Roy. “You okay?” he asked, as he offered the hat back to Roy.

Roy accepted it with a curt nod. “Real peachy,” he muttered as he snatched his hat. He tipped his head as he settled it on his hair; and when he lifted his chin again, he let his gaze rake over the stranger.

As tall as Roy—maybe just a tad taller—the man was thick with muscle. He wore a vibrantly red shirt—bright and crimson in the afternoon sun—with a black leather vest left unbuttoned. His sleeves were folded up past his wrists, and his tanned skin was rough and covered in scars. One of those scarred hands rested against the holstered gun at his waist.

The discolored marks had Roy arching a brow as his gaze trailed higher still. With a bandana tied high around his throat, the man held his chin level and met Roy’s scrutinizing stare. Even when Roy’s eyes widened—blinking and faltering in their harsh glare—the man’s resolve never wavered. Those blue-green eyes of his, shining as vibrantly as his crimson shirt, remained steady, almost daring for Roy to comment on the burned flesh upon his left cheek. Gnarled and scarred, Roy didn’t recognize the brand beneath the burn. It was a mess of sharp tears and scar tissue as if the initial brand had been burned beyond recognition with the blade of a knife.

“I’m fine,” Roy said, calmer, softer in his tone. “You?”

The man snorted a derisive breath through his nostrils. “Peachy,” he said with a crooked grin, and despite the humor, there was something dangerous—feral—about that smirk. Maybe it was the rugged jawline or the mangled scars, the blood slowly dripping from the split in his lip or the finger tapping at the butt of his gun; but Roy’s instincts sparked aflame. He needed this man. He was the one.

Before Roy could fully think it through, he barreled ahead and asked, “You got any plans for the next month?”

The man arched an eyebrow, his gaze narrowing as he stared straight at Roy. “No,” he slowly said, the word careful and drawn out with his wariness. “Sounds like you might, though.”

Roy breathed a shaky laugh. “Ah,” he said, dipping his head slightly as he rubbed at the nape of his neck. His cheeks burned hot with warmth—dusting the smattering of freckles there with a lovely flush. “Sorry, I should at least introduce myself first. Roy Harper.” He extended his hand to the man, and the man eyed it for a long moment before finally clasping it in a firm shake.

“Jason Todd.”

“Jason,” Roy repeated with a smile that was too familiar to be directed at a complete stranger. “Might I interest you in a job?”

Jason’s narrowed gaze darted across the street, and he scanned up and down the road and calculated the threat of every passing rider and wagon, of the few ladies out for an afternoon stroll, of the barber chatting on his porch step with an elderly man. His fingers settled on his gun’s grip, carefully closing around the handle. “Should we really be discussing this here?” he bit out sharply.

Roy bit his lip to stifle his laughter, because yeah, dangerous. But his amusement still bled out in a puffed snort. “No, no,” he said. “I don’t need you for a hit job, although I appreciate the offer; because you may have to pull that trigger during our trip.”

“Trip? I haven’t agreed to anything.”

Roy sobered up real fast. “Right.” He eyed Jason’s fingers, and they relaxed from the gun’s grip to merely settle his knuckles against the revolver. “Listen, I need to go pick up a horse.”

“And you can’t do that by yourself?” Jason shifted his weight and crossed his arms tightly over his chest as he regarded Roy.

“It’s in El Paso,” Roy said, and that was all that needed to be shared for Jason to nod his understanding and stop with that condescending look of his. “Listen, I’ll go by myself if you don’t want to. But you seem like the kind of guy I’d want at my back if I run into the Hush Boys.” Jason seemed to be seriously considering it, so Roy hoped he could seal the deal. “I’ll pay you two dollars a day.”

Jason pursed his lips with a low, long hum. The sound vibrated in his chest, and it reminded Roy of a wild animal. “When do we leave?” he finally asked.

“Bright and early tomorrow, if you’re up for it.” At Jason’s nod, Roy grinned. His smile dimpled his cheeks, and his eyes sparkled with childlike glee, as bright as emeralds in their hue, the flecks of gold catching the sun.

* * *

With Dawn’s first light creeping toward the last twinkles of the stars, Roy exited the hotel with his saddle bags slung over one shoulder and his gun hanging from his hip. He didn’t expect to see Jason quite yet; he’d planned to get the supplies all packed and steady on the mule and be ready to go as soon as the man made his appearance. But when he rounded the corner to the livery stable, he spotted Jason leaning casually against its weathered wood. Back pressed against the livery and his dark boots crossed and kicked out slightly, Jason’s chin was dipped low to his chest. With crossed arms and the brim of his hat shadowing his eyes, Roy might’ve thought Jason had dozed off if not for the thin trail of smoke blowing from his nostrils.

At the sound of Roy’s steps, Jason’s gaze jerked up; and he reached to steady the cigarette that hung lazily between his lips.

“So, I know I said bright and early,” Roy jested with an upward curve of his lips, “but it’s not even bright yet. You could’ve got a bit more sleep.”

Jason’s only response was a shrug of his shoulders before he flicked the cigarette to the dirt and snuffed it beneath his boot. He followed Roy into the livery and set about retrieving his gear.

Roy packed up quick. He had stashed his supplies in one of the livery’s lockboxes and was already squared away with the owner for his horse’s board and the mule rental. So it was only a short time later when he led his light bay gelding and the loaded pack mule out of the livery. When he exited, Jason was swinging up into his saddle.

His sorrel gelding danced and snorted as Jason’s boot easily slipped into the stirrup. The horse’s coat shined such a beautiful red—coppery like a newly minted coin—and Roy couldn’t help but smirk at how the mount matched its rider. Attitude and all, the horse twisted its neck to nip at Jason’s boot, but the man didn’t so much as flinch. He patted the beast’s thickly corded neck and looked down at the animal with tender amusement in his gaze.

And if that wasn’t something that had Roy tripping over his own feet. He faltered and stared for a long moment, because without the harsh glare narrowing the man’s eyes and furrowing deep wrinkles between his brows, Jason was rather handsome. It softened all his rough edges; and Roy supposed he was still rugged and rather burly looking—the exact image of an outlaw printed on a wanted poster, and yeah, Jason probably had a few of those hanging up with his face on them—but it made Jason look younger. Definitely not a boy—a child—in any sense, but younger than Roy by a handful of years.

Roy blinked out of his daze the moment Jason’s eyes flicked in his direction. He quickly looped the mule’s lead around his saddle horn and then stuffed his boot in the stirrup. He swung into his seat, and with one last check of his essentials—the bank notes safely stashed in his saddle bag, hunting rifle secured in its scabbard beneath the fender—Roy urged his gelding forward with a nudge of his boot. “Shall we?” he said with a lazy grin and a small gesture of the reins as he rode past Jason.

Jason needed only ease up on his reins for his horse to jump forward. A couple more little crow hops, and then the gelding settled into a bouncy trot beside Roy’s mount.

“You’ve got a feisty one, huh?” Roy turned with a laugh, watching the gelding weave sideways to the right and then sway back left—close enough for Jason’s knee to knock against Roy's.

Every bounce of a step was accompanied by a flick of the horse’s tail, and the horse arched its neck with a flared snort. “Whiskey’s not so agreeable so early in the day,” Jason said rather fondly for a man holding the reins snug to keep his prancing mount from bolting for the horizon.

“I suppose not,” Roy said with a chuckle.

They fell into an amiable silence after that as they rode out of town. The first trills of morning—of roosters crowing and the jingle of door bells as shopkeepers prepared to open, the cheery whistle of a young man strolling off to work and the pattering scratches of a stray digging through the hotel’s trash for some scraps—quieted behind them until the only whispers were that of the wind and the brush, of the steady hoofbeats of their horses.

And Jason was right about Whiskey. As the sun fully rose and hung above the craggy countryside, the gelding settled into a smooth, easy stride, much more tolerable of the rider upon its back. And as soon as the horse stopped chomping on its bit, Jason eased up on the reins—resting his hand on the pommel and his other against his thigh.

“So,” Jason said, twisting slightly in the saddle to direct a curious, tilted stare at Roy, “this horse we’re picking up. What’s so great about it that you’d ride through Hush’s territory when the man’s rustling herds left and right?”

Roy exhaled a sharp sigh through his nostrils as he fidgeted in his seat. The saddle’s leather squeaked with the shifting of his weight, and that sharp sound grated his ears to the point he stilled and then rubbed at the heat flushing his nape.

The whole town had heard about this horse. Half of them laughed in his face and the other half told him to get his head outta his ass. They weren’t some fancy city out east where they spent Sunday afternoons fawning at the racetrack. Their ladies didn’t get all gussied up with flamboyant hats and bright dresses to watch thoroughbreds run in circles. And god forbid you mention a thoroughbred in these parts. Weak legs, fragile disposition, hot tempered. Nothing but a hay-burner that couldn’t earn its keep.

But Roy wasn’t after a thoroughbred. He merely used them as an example of the selective breeding out east. Maybe that was his mistake. If he had explained his intentions better, maybe he’d’ve had more willing hands—and guns—journeying to El Paso with him.

But as Roy glanced at Jason—finding genuine interest now, and yeah okay, maybe Roy was making enough of a fool of himself that anyone would question his nervous reaction—he supposed it all worked out in the end. He had Jason with him, and for some peculiar reason, Roy felt Jason was all he needed.

“It’s a Baroque stallion,” Roy finally said.

Jason’s gaze pinched with confusion, his nose scrunching up and his lips parting silently. “Uh, I sure hope it’s broke.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, their gazes caught in each other’s in a bewildered static, before Roy huffed a snorted breath. “Not broke,” he laughed, shaking his head with a mirthful grin. His red hair framed freckled cheeks as he looked back to Jason with bright irises—the flecks of gold in them shining. “Baroque. It’s a type of horse.”

“Oh,” Jason quietly said, and now he was the one flushing. His ears and nose darkened a brilliant shade of red—like he had forgotten his hat on a blistering day in the fields and burned under the sun. He scratched at his bandana, pulling it higher on his throat even though it was already snug beneath his chin. “Never heard of it,” he muttered, staring somewhere off to the right at the rocky hillside that sloped higher on the horizon.

“That’s cause you’re not gonna find them in these parts,” Roy said. He rested the heel of his palm back against the saddle’s cantle and leaned some of his weight against it as he gazed up at the thin, wispy clouds in the sky. “There was the ole fella—he’s probably passed by now—who drifted into town when I was a boy. He was a real coot,” Roy said with a hearty breath of laughter. “Used to run with the circus, and he had this horse. Big and black with so much muscle and yet somehow so graceful when it moved. I had never seen anything like it. He had called it a Baroque horse, and I had no idea what he was talking about.”

Roy’s gaze lowered to his gelding’s ears, and he fondly smiled, scratching the horse’s neck with his fingers. “I used to think mustangs were the most beautiful.” Roy tipped a lopsided smile toward Jason. “You ever see a herd of them at peace, calm and simply existing outside of man?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Jason said.

“That’s a shame. Because there’s something so raw, so… breathtaking about it. These horses that are untouched, horses that are viewed as wild and dangerous—and they are, if you’re not careful and respectful of them—they’re so damn resilient. They’ve got a will stronger than any man, and it’s something that the quarters and paints just don’t have.” Roy regarded Jason with a quick dart of his eyes, finding the man listening intently. He’d bet Jason had more in common with the wild mustangs than either of them knew.

Roy remembered when he tried weighing his two loves—the mustang or the Baroque. Which did he want to pursue more? But Roy considered himself a selfish man; he never could make up his mind. He wanted both.

“But, man,” Roy said with a breathy sigh, awed and dreamy at the memory of that big black horse, “that old coot’s Baroque stallion had me questioning that. There’s a different kind of power in those horses. Their lines come from ancient war horses, and their mere presence demands respect. I want to bring the two together—the resilience of the mustang and the power of the Baroque. I’ve already got the mustangs. Caught and tamed them myself. Now I just need this stallion, and this dream of mine can finally start rolling.”

It was more than a dream really. There was a time when he would’ve settled for less. The mustangs would’ve been good enough. He could’ve been happy joining the ranks of the men that roam the prairie plains capturing mustangs and taming the creatures into the perfect partner. But things changed; life changed.

He had a daughter. Lian was the best surprise he could’ve asked for. And this dream of his—foolhardy and fleeting—became a legacy he could leave for her. She spurred him to work for it, to sweat and toil and squirrel away every dollar he could. He’d be nowhere without her, probably drifting from town to town and sleeping in dingy taverns. But now he had a small ranch; he _built_ a ranch. He built a house by his own hands, all for Lian.

And his little girl was waiting for him back home, probably bouncing off the walls and driving Kori and Dick insane with her excitement. She had beamed so brightly—her smile as radiant as a spring sun—when he told her she could name the new stallion.

Roy grabbed his hat in one hand—holding it with the reins—and combed through his hair with the other. A light sheen of sweat dampened his forehead, and he ran his hand along his temple, behind his ear and rounding it to scratch at his jaw—the coarse red hairs of his beard in tight curls. He’d have to stop at a barbershop on their way back for a trim; he was getting rather scruffy.

“It might seem silly,” Roy said as he dipped his head and replaced his hat atop it. He turned to Jason with a sheepish smile and then looked forward at the wind of their trail into the forested hillside. “I’m banking on this one stallion that I’ve never even seen in person. All the townsfolk think I’ve lost my damn mind, and by god, I want to make them eat every last word.” Roy’s grin stretched wider, and a swelling of indignant pride puffed up his chest. His next words came out a little rough at their edges. “Next summer, they’ll be begging me for the colts that drop and lining up for my stallion to breed their mares.”

A snorted breath of laughter startled Roy. His shoulders jolted, and his gelding hopped forward a stride at its rider’s sudden tension. But Roy gathered himself straight again and patted soothingly at his horse’s neck. Then he turned to look at Jason, and the man was grinning—wide and toothy and incredibly feral in his mirth.

“It doesn’t sound silly,” Jason said, voice rough with laughter, and saying the word _silly_ as if the word itself was, well, silly. And once again, Roy was awed—lips parted on a silent gasp, unsure if he actually got any air into his lungs and uncaring in that moment—because Jason, with laughter lines crinkling his eyes and unbridled delight making his irises shine a brilliant blue—hues of green streaking from the pupils—was as handsome as those wild mustangs roaming the plains.

With a heavy breath expanding Jason’s chest, his laughter sobered a bit. His grin softened into a small, gentle curve. “I think that sounds quite lovely, actually,” he said, and when his gaze met Roy’s, a pang of an ache ran sharply through Roy’s chest. Subtle, quick like a strike of lightning, it struck at Roy’s sternum and then left him with a residual sense of longing—the same quiet yearning he now saw in Jason’s gaze.

Jason tipped his gaze forward, and he stared ahead through his horse’s ears. Craggy boulders and brittle brush marked their trail, and it was a sight he was used to. From frosted mountain sides to scorching desert seas, Jason had traveled through everything the west had to offer. Unconsciously, his hand touched the gun holstered at his hip, and his knuckles brushed its cool metal, finding comfort in the familiar nicks and scratches of its grip.

“I’m just a drifter,” Jason started saying. “A hired gun. People like me, we don’t get to have ambitions or dreams. So yours, it sounds… anything but silly to me.” With a tilt of his head, Jason’s eyes flicked to peek at Roy; and finding the man staring back at him with a frown, Jason offered a small, stilted smile.

There was so much more hanging on Jason’s tongue—words waiting to spill forth like a dam—but his jaw clamped down, and he swallowed them deep into his gut where they could be forgotten.

But Roy saw it. He saw the part of Jason’s lips, how his tongue had slowly wet the scabbed split in his bottom lip, how his gaze had gone adrift. And he saw the exact moment in which Jason shut it all down. His jawline hardened with the clench of his teeth; that deep furrow returned to his brow.

Roy remembered a time when he didn’t dare ask for more. He might’ve settled for drifting after the mustang herds; and sure, he would’ve been happy enough. But there would have always been that _what if_ in the back of his head. What if he had pursued the Baroque? What if he had packed up his measly belongings and moved south to Texas or the New Mexico territory? What if he had begged the bank for a loan and bought a plot of land back home?

What if he had the courage to fail?

And then Lian fell into his life, and she became his blessing in more ways than one. His little buckaroo forced him to settle down, and sure, he had been scared—terrified—but she ended up being the best thing to ever happen to Roy. He had just needed a push, and his came in the form of a little green-eyed gremlin that he loved more than life itself.

Maybe Roy should stew upon his idea longer. He barely knew Jason two days, and yet he didn’t think twice before offering, “I don’t know if this would interest you, but if you’re looking to stop being _just a drifter_ , I’ve been needing a ranch hand, and you’d be welcome to the job.”

Jason jerked his head to stare at Roy, and his eyes slowly narrowed. There was a dangerous glint in them; Roy had seen that same look from wounded predators, cornered and snarling at the barrel of a rifle. “Wasn’t looking for any handouts, thanks,” Jason bit out sharply.

“Whoa there, pal.” Roy raised his hands in surrender, waiting a long tick for Jason’s shoulders to ease back from his ears. “I’m not handing out anything. I was thinking of hiring someone on permanently once I got my stallion home and settled, and well, I figured if you wanted to stop drifting, it’d be beneficial for both of us.” Roy dropped his hands to his thighs and sighed. “Apologies if I was wrong,” he said, head bowed but tilted to meet Jason’s stare.

Jason’s daggered glare scrutinized Roy’s face. Roy didn’t waver beneath the weight of it, and Jason blinked, nodding his head slightly, and then averted his eyes to the ground. He worked his jaw with a stretch of his head—Jason’s neck arching and the bandana revealing a sliver of paled skin beneath—as he scratched rough fingers through his gently wavy hair—the ends curled up with the heat and sweat.

“I’ll think about it,” Jason muttered.

And that might have been the end of it for now, but by the wistful sheen to Jason’s eyes as he turned his gaze away, Roy figured Jason would be stewing over his decision for the rest of their trip.

* * *

Jason didn’t sleep. Or he slept very little, Roy quickly found out. Maybe he was a light sleeper? Although someone used to camping out under the stars should be more tolerant of the skittering creatures and the whistling of the wind, the crackling of their fire and the popping of dying embers.

The man remained sat at the fire each night Roy passed out—head pillowed against his saddle and snug beneath a blanket—and each morning, no matter how early Roy woke, Jason was wide awake with coffee brewing over the fire.

During their fourth night, Roy stirred awake. Coyotes yipped and chattered somewhere in the distance, and Roy wearily looked to where their horses and mule were bedded for the night. The equines were quiet with their heads hanging low and their eyelids drooping, so Roy figured the coyotes were far enough off that they weren’t a concern.

With a lip-smacking yawn, Roy rolled over to his opposite side and burrowed deeper into his bedroll. He yanked the blanket higher over his head, leaving only a thin window for the orange glow of the fire to fall across his face.

He blinked wearily, rubbing the crust and moisture from his eyes with the heel of his thumb, and just stared at the rippling rolls of the fire—little sparks escaping higher into the dark night before fizzling out against the stars. But it wasn’t the fire that drew him further into consciousness. No, normally it lulled him back to sleep. It was the man sitting beside it on a protrusion of rock.

Jason’s face was heavy with the shadows the fire cast across it. Gaze downcast, he sat with his legs spread wide, arched forward with his elbows against his knees; and in his hand, he held a small block of wood and a jack knife.

He meticulously whittled away tiny slices of wood; a small smattering of shavings littered the ground near his boots. Roy couldn’t tell what the figure might end up being, but he thought he could just make out a leg or two, maybe a tail? There was too little of it completed to truly say.

As if the man had sensed Roy’s gaze—as if it had been hotter upon his hands than the heat of the fire—Jason stilled the knife against the wood, and his eyes flicked across the campfire to Roy. He met Roy’s sleepy gaze long enough to confirm the other was awake, and then Jason looked back down to his figure and continued whittling away.

“Can’t sleep?” Roy quietly asked, voice rough and ragged with the heaviness of his tongue.

Jason simply shrugged. His hands stilled again, and his fingers clutched tighter against the figurine. “Never did get much of it.” He left it at that, and Roy wanted to ask why. Under the stars—on a serene night such as this, even with the yipping of coyotes off in the distance—cowboys were lulled into a peaceful rest. But before Roy could form any coherent question in his mind, Jason sighed, bowing forward with the weight upon his shoulders.

“Get some rest. Sun’ll be up in a few hours,” he said, and the gentle rasp of his words were what lulled Roy’s eyes closed that night.

* * *

The craggy countryside littered with mighty pines and rocky hills gradually changed to that of plateaus and baked, dusty earth. The dry heat had sweat glistening on their brows; and Roy pressed his lips to his canteen and tipped his head back for a drink of water.

As he swallowed it down, he froze at the sudden, faint rattling that sounded among the hoofbeats of the horses. Roy eased his gelding to a stop, quickly capping his canteen and slinging it over the saddle’s horn. He held out his arm in a gesture for Jason to stop as well.

“You hear that?” Roy asked as the rattling’s intensity increased.

Jason tipped his head slightly, and the minute he caught wind of the incessant rattling, his lips arched higher into a crooked, devilish smirk. “Sure do. Sounds like lunch to me.”

With a burst of energy—scrounged from somewhere Roy didn’t know in this godforsaken heat—Jason swung from the saddle and tossed one of the reins at Roy. Roy flailed to catch it, mouth agape as he watched Jason pull out his jack knife and flick it open. “You crazy bastard!” Roy called after him as Jason stalked closer to the rattling sound.

Jason waved his hand to dismiss Roy, not daring to utter a single sound as he crouched lower. And that was when Roy saw it. Curled up among some tumbleweeds, a rattlesnake coiled tight and whipped its tail with the vigor of a very pissed off snake.

Roy leaned forward in the saddle, standing on the balls of his feet in the stirrups and feeling like, somehow, as if all the blood in his body was pounding against his skull and echoing like a blast of dynamite in his ears. He swore if he had to suck snake venom out of Jason, he was gonna kill the man himself. Stupid bastard. Who in their right mind—

Roy’s thoughts derailed and stuttered to a resounding halt when Jason threw the knife with such ease and precision that it pierced the snake between the eyes. The snake’s tightly coiled body immediately went slack, and despite its quick death, Jason still lunged forward and sank the knife deeper through the snake’s head, skewering it to the earth below.

And as Jason reached for the sheath strapped to his thigh—opposite his holstered gun—and pulled out his larger hunting knife, Roy’s wide-eyed stare softened with a fluttering series of blinks. A breathless exhale escaped him, and he dropped back to his seat in the saddle, feeling as if Jason had personally knocked the air from his chest. Because admittedly, that was impressive. No, it was more than that. As Jason expertly twirled the hunting knife in his hand—catching its grip and sinking to a knee to behead the snake—Roy wet his lips with a slow swipe of his tongue. He swallowed and then startled slightly—shoulders jolting and blinking out of his heated daze—when Jason called out to him.

“You ever eat rattlesnake before?”

Roy shook his head. “No.”

Jason wiped the hunting knife clean in the dirt before sheathing it. He collected the snake’s body in one hand before carefully retrieving his jack knife. He used its pointed tip to nudge the severed head deeper into the tumbleweeds, hopefully out of the way enough that someone else didn’t come along and get bit by it.

When Jason turned toward Roy, wiping the jack knife clean and closing it with a quick flick of his wrist, he grinned so devilishly. Pretty and pleased, Jason held the snake up like a prize. His lofty pride squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest, and he was as delighted as a cat that got its cream. “You’ll love it,” he said. “It’s heavenly compared to the beans we’ve been living on.”

In three long strides, Jason was at his horse’s side, and he swung up into the saddle. He laid the snake carcass across his thighs and then leaned toward Roy to collect his reins from the man. As their fingers brushed, Roy’s eyes flicked down at the brief, calloused contact. When they swept back up to Jason’s face, Jason was still grinning at him with a satisfaction and pride that looked so handsome on his rough features.

“Let’s find a spot to rest for lunch,” Jason said as he urged his horse on ahead. “I’ll skin it and cook it up real good for you.” And when Jason tossed a lopsided grin over his shoulder at Roy, Roy shook his head and smiled despite himself.

Damn, he was falling hard and fast. Roy could feel it in the weightlessness in his chest, like each breath whistled through his ribs in a symphony.

* * *

They reached El Paso without incident, and their first stop was a little bustling café for their first decent meal in two weeks. They had lasted on more than beans—multiple rattlesnakes actually, and the occasional desert hare—but nothing beat a mountain load of syrupy hotcakes and greasy bacon and sunny-side eyes.

And maybe it was the good food or the buzzing energy of the city, but Roy had never felt so alive. The tableware in his hands, the brush of the cloth against his knuckles, Jason’s knee pressed against his where they were squashed side by side in the packed eatery. Every little sensation—the bump of Jason’s elbow, the ting of cutlery against a plate, the boisterous outburst of laughter from across the room—set Roy ablaze.

His heart was light and running free in his chest, and he felt he could take on the whole world right there and then and come out on top of it all. It took him far too long to realize why, and it wasn’t until he had payed for their meals and was walking outside—feeling a refreshing breath of air hit his lungs—that Roy stopped dead in his tracks.

Jason walked right into him, and Roy didn’t budge. “What the hell, man?” Jason spat; but as he stepped around Roy and saw a look of pure wonder and childlike awe brightening Roy’s green eyes, the venom drained from Jason’s voice and his frown lifted to a curious tilt of his lips.

Jason waited, and slowly, Roy’s glistening eyes turned to him. The flat, stunned line of his lips parted and stretched until Roy’s teeth were on full display and his eyes crinkled, and if Jason had to guess, there were probably dimples hidden beneath the scruff of Roy’s beard.

“I finally get to see him,” Roy said with a trill of laughter. He heaved in a deep inhale like the realization left him gasping for breath. “Holy shit, Jason, I get to see my stallion tomorrow.”

With a slight tilt of his head, Jason watched how the giddy delight danced across Roy’s eyes with the late afternoon sun. With each passing moment, Jason felt his smile growing until it matched Roy’s. What an infectious bastard, he thought with a shake of his head, amused and yet genuinely sharing in Roy’s happiness. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t excited about seeing this stallion too. According to Roy, it would take his breath away.

And Jason supposed, if the stallion was anything like its soon-to-be owner, it probably would.

Jason snorted a laugh and slapped Roy goodheartedly across the shoulder blades. “Come on, ya big sap. We gotta find a place to stay tonight.”

They grabbed their horses and the mule from where they were tied to a hitching post and rode them down to the livery stable. After bedding them all down for the night and locking the majority of their gear away, they exited the livery with only their rifles, bedrolls, and saddle bags in tow.

It was all teasing jabs and hearty laughter as they strolled down the streets in search of a hotel. Knocking shoulders and the occasional elbow jab to the ribs had them looking on the far end of tipsy. And that alone was a testament to how giddy they both felt. After a long journey, their prize was finally within reach.

When they found a hotel and asked for a room, they were told there weren’t any available and pointed in the direction of another. It didn’t seem too odd, what with the number of cowboys and trailhands littering every street and saloon like a pack of rabid coyotes. But by the second and even the third that turned them away, most of their excitement and glee sobered to plain old exhaustion.

“Sorry, fellas,” the hotel’s attendant said. He was an old gentleman dressed in a fine leather vest with a pocket watch tucked away and its chain draping along his portly midsection to where it looped around a vest button. “It’s nearing the start of driving season, and there’s been a rush of cowhands in town hoping to get hired on. And what with Hush and his boys running loose, nobody wants to be sleeping out in the desert.” The man rubbed his bearded chin and thoughtfully offered, “You might try at one of the saloons. They’ve normally got a few rooms open.”

Not a few, as it turned out when the two of them entered the quietest tavern in town, which really, wasn’t all that quiet. Just one room. Roy tossed the barkeep a silver dollar and swiped the key from the counter. They were directed up a set of stairs in the back and to the very last door in the hall.

When they lugged their gear upstairs—Jason standing with a cocked hip at Roy’s shoulder—Roy balanced his bedroll against his abdomen and unlocked the door. He pushed it open and stepped across the threshold into a dingy little room.

A dingy little room with only one bed, Roy noted. He tipped a glance back at Jason as Jason entered behind him, and the man visibly deflated when he spotted their conundrum. With a heavy sigh that slouched his shoulders, Jason swore. “Damn it all to hell,” he muttered. He turned on his heel and bit out, “Guess I’ll go bed down with the horses or something.”

“What? No.” Roy’s brain stuttered, and he dropped his gear—the unloaded rifle clattering to the floor—so he could grab Jason’s elbow. His grip held firm, and Jason jolted to a halt. “We’ve been sharing a campfire for two weeks; we can share a bed.”

“Uh… I don’t think that’s a fair equivalent,” Jason said with an arch of an eyebrow, but there was just the barest hint of amusement lacing his words.

“Sure it is,” Roy argued, despite knowing he was flying by the seat of his pants. “Listen, we’ve been sleeping on the hard ass ground, and finally, _finally_ , there’s a… probably soft… bed right there; and we’ll both fit just fine. Or are you saying I stink or something?”

Jason snorted, and he finally turned back toward the room. “Oh, you definitely stink.” He raised an arm slightly and dipped his head to get a whiff of himself, and he shook his head with a soured expression. “We both do.”

He brushed past Roy to drape his saddle bag over the back of the old wooden chair in the corner, dumped his bedroll in its seat, and leaned his rifle against the wall. Then Jason turned for the dresser opposite the bed. He leaned forward to inspect himself in the dusty mirror hanging above it. His hand reached up to cup at his jaw, swiping the pads of his fingers over the growing stubble. Finally, he stood back and grabbed the metal wash basin from the dresser. “I guess if we both wash up, it won’t be too insufferable.”

Roy’s bottom lip rolled between the bite of his teeth to stifle the beaming grin that threatened to overtake him. He hummed—long and warbly—as Jason, too, failed to smother the amusement in his small, lopsided smile. “Insufferable,” Roy repeated, a breathy laugh of the word.

“That’s right.” Jason nodded quite smugly, and he tipped his hat to Roy while he walked past him. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” Jason said, coy and faux sweet, as if he was addressing a lady; and it left Roy’s chest quaking with laughter as Jason strolled out the door.

It didn’t take long for Jason to fill the wash basin and return with a pair of rags. He tossed one to Roy, and they both stripped down to wipe away the sweat and grime that clung to their bodies like a second skin.

Roy noted, though—as he changed into a fresh set of clothes from his bedroll—that Jason never did take off that red bandana of his. Even as he leaned over the dresser and scraped away the stubble on his chin with a sharp razor, he only tugged it down slightly. But Roy could guess what it was hiding. Because seeing the man standing there bare-chested put a lot more than muscle on display. Deep lashes marred Jason’s shoulder blades, and his chest was littered with old cuts and fresh bruises. Roy even spotted a few old bullet wounds—one in his left shoulder, another just above his hip, a graze along his abdomen.

Roy sat at the corner of the bed, leaning back on his palms, and stared at Jason’s reflection in the mirror. Hard concentration focused Jason’s deep blue eyes. He pulled back for a quick second to dip the razor into the basin and wipe it clean against his wash rag. Then he leaned forward again and tipped his chin up, turning it left to right in an inspection of his handiwork. That was when he caught Roy’s gaze in the mirror.

Jason didn’t turn. He stared back at Roy; his eyes widened in a moment of surprise. Then they narrowed, darkened, but Roy didn’t waver. He didn’t shy from the intensity of that stare, because Jason was a testy man. He was quick to anger but just as quick to forgive. It all came down to the other party’s intentions. And Roy would like to think that they knew each other well enough for Jason to know he meant no ill will, that Roy didn’t think any less of him because he was quick to start a fight or that his body was etched with scars Roy knew nothing of.

And Jason did know that. He truly did, but old habits died hard. With a breathy exhale, Jason dropped his gaze. He closed the razor, leaving it upon the dresser, and grabbed the clean shirt he had set aside on the chair. After slipping his arms into the sleeves and buttoning it up, Jason reached for the tie of his bandana. He loosened it, but only to adjust it higher and tie it snugly against his throat.

Jason moved to the opposite side of the bed and crawled in. He doubted he’d be getting much sleep, but maybe a warm bed—albeit not a very soft one—would help alleviate his insomnia. He faced the wall and pulled the covers over his shoulder, mumbling, “G’night, Roy.”

Jason heard Roy’s breathy exhale and the rustle of the sheets as Roy stood to extinguish the flame of the kerosene lamp. As Roy turned down the wick, the flame’s glow dimmed until it fizzled out and left only the soft shine of the moon to illuminate his path to the bed. The mattress dipped and creaked slightly with his weight, but once he was settled on his back, the only sound was the muted drone of the tavern downstairs.

“Night, Jason,” Roy quietly said, tipping his gaze to look at the back of Jason’s head. The man hummed, low and guttural, and Roy’s eyes drifted shut with a languid smile upon his lips.

* * *

When the first fluttering of consciousness came to Roy, it was accompanied by a feathering tickle to his nose. He inhaled deeply, wrinkling his nose at the faint itchiness—the scent of the desert’s dusty earth lingering in the back of his throat. He opened his bleary eyes and blinked a few times to focus his vision against the stream of sunshine through the paper-thin curtains.

A head of wavy curls was haloed by the warm glow. Tucked beneath Roy’s chin, he felt each hot exhale against his neck. There was the weight of an arm over his ribs and a tangle of legs with his. And it wasn’t as surprising as he should have found it that his own arm encircled Jason’s back.

What did shock him a bit was the fact Jason was still sleeping. That he slept at all really. Out on the trail, Roy never saw the man sleep. He surely did, less he pass out on horseback; but Roy had never seen it.

It was a shame really, that Jason’s face was hidden against Roy’s chest. He would’ve loved seeing the slack, relaxed expression the man wore.

But alas, Roy smiled as he tucked his head lower and curled an arm tighter around Jason, this wasn’t so bad either.

He enjoyed the short few moments before Jason inevitably stirred. The first sign was a deep, belly-expanding inhale. The exhale was a gust of warm breath that Roy felt through the thin layer of his shirt. He eased the tightness of his embrace a little and leaned his head back to stare down at Jason’s head. Jason simply breathed in a few steadying breaths before he turned his head and peered through the veil of his lashes.

Lidded and heavy with sleep, Jason yawned—silent like a kitten, small and meek in ways Jason wasn’t. His fingers flexed against Roy’s side; and with his next languid inhale, Jason’s shoulders shrugged upward, and he rolled out the kinks in them with the exhale. When he moved to roll onto his back, Roy released him. But Roy’s fingers followed him. His knuckles touched Jason’s bicep, resting against the muscle as if unsure whether his touch would be accepted.

As Jason fought with his eyes to remain open, a deep rumble vibrated in his chest. “My god, Roy,” he said, voice heavy and rough, and Roy had to swallow the anticipation—force down the anxiety that constricted his throat. “I haven’t slept that well in… forever.” Jason’s head lolled toward Roy, and the languid smile—a slight curve of his lips that arched one side higher than the other, so handsome on his face—had Roy shuddering a breath into his lungs.

Jason draped his wrist over his eyes to block out some of the streaming sunlight. He absently scratched at his jaw, and Roy’s gaze followed the movement as if he needed to memorize every little one of Jason’s idiosyncrasies. But when Roy’s eyes dipped lower to where Jason’s bandana had slipped in the night, he saw the tapered end of a deep, whitened scar.

With a slow blink of his eyes, Roy let the pity and sadness wash through his heart—feeling each distinct ache in his chest, knowing someone, somewhere marked up this man in a way no one deserved—and when he opened them again, Roy looked back to the comfortable recline of Jason’s head, to the easy rises and falls of his chest, to the slow awakening that was Jason Todd. He absently rubbed his knuckles against Jason’s arm. Slow and rhythmic, the touch helped ease Jason into a state of lucid wakefulness.

“Alright, I’m up,” Jason said, voice still heavy and raw and sounding anything but awake; but he still pushed himself up and swung his legs to the floor. He arched his back in an elongating stretch—arms raising high above his head—and deflated with a deeply satisfied sigh. “What’d’ya say we get some breakfast and then go get that horse of yours?”

Roy grunted with the effort it took to sit up, because he wanted to pull Jason back down and let the man sleep in his embrace for another week or two, and even that probably wasn’t enough to compensate for Jason’s restless nights. But Roy swung his feet to the floor and bent over to reach for where he thought he left his boots the night before. “Sounds like a plan.”

They pulled on their boots and gun belts, and Roy noted how Jason’s bandana had been tied back in its rightful place, before heading out to find some breakfast. They ended up at the same little café as yesterday; and when they had their fill, they returned to their room to pack their gear. Roy returned the room key, and they headed to the livery to tack up their horses and ride out to collect Roy’s stallion.

* * *

It was a two-hour ride to the ranch estate simply known as Sierra Grace. It was tucked along the desert mountains, protected by their mighty knolls; and both Roy and Jason were quite flabbergasted riding through the open, wrought-iron gates. Roy had known the man he was buying the stallion from was a wealthy, established Spaniard; but he wasn’t quite expecting… this.

A two-story terracotta house with a grand porch and pillars and tall archways looked out upon a stableyard bedded in pebbles. It was the kind of beauty Roy pictured when learning about castles and royalty in his boyhood. And the stable itself—a long building a slightly lighter shade of earth than the house—was unlike any barn Roy had ever seen. Stall doors lined the entirety of one side, each with its top open and the shade of an overhanging awning falling upon the few horses that hung their heads out.

Jason whistled, long and arching in its sound; and it somehow summarized Roy’s reaction perfectly.

The crunching of their horse’s hooves upon the pebbles drew out a man from the stable. He looked at the pair with a scrutinizing eye for only a short moment before recognition lit in his coppery eyes. “Ah!” he exclaimed as he came strolling over. “You must be that cowboy from the telegrams. Mr. Harper, I presume?”

Roy swung down from his saddle and scrambled to grab his hat from his head. He quickly combed his fingers through his hair before pressing the hat to his chest and nodding at the man. “You can call me Roy,” he said and offered out his hand. With a firm, calloused shake, the man nodded with a smile. “And this is Jason,” Roy introduced.

Jason dismounted, and he tipped his head in a slight bow. “It’s a pleasure…”

“Javier,” the man supplied, and with another firm handshake, pleasantries were set aside. He meticulously retucked the sleeve of his white shirt up past his elbow before clapping his hands together. “Shall we go see this stallion of yours?”

Roy’s chest stuttered with breath, and he barely managed to say, “Please.”

Javier called for a stablehand to relieve them of their horses and mule before leading the pair to the other side of the stable. As they rounded the building and caught sight of the corral, Roy faltered in his steps. Because there he was. In all the glory of a mighty beast of old, _his_ stallion stood at the corral’s center like it knew its majesty.

All Roy could do was stare. The stallion’s buckskin coat shined like gold on its belly, chest, and head. Dark, sooty smoke billowed outwards and colored its ribs and neck with dapples of gold shining through. Its muzzle and all four legs were dipped black as night; and its long, flowing mane and tail fell in waves as luscious as a woman’s.

Roy didn’t hear the sharp clicking of Javier’s tongue—couldn’t hear much over his own heartbeat pounding in his ears—but he saw the immediate response from the horse. It collected its hindquarters and cantered from a standstill. With a beautifully arched neck, each stride reminded Roy of the swaying of a rocking horse—perfect and steady and always collected.

The stallion eased to an elongated walk, somehow making each stride look languid and smooth. The nudge of an elbow to Roy’s arm drew his gaze away, and if it had been anyone but Jason, he probably would’ve ignored them. But when he looked to Jason, there was a different kind of beauty gazing back.

Goodhearted and mirthful, Jason tapped a finger at his own eye. Roy puzzled a frown until Jason sighed and reached for Roy’s face. Roy tracked the fingers, staring as Jason’s thumb tenderly wiped the budding moisture from his eye, and then he blinked wide. He reeled back and scrubbed the heel of his palm over his eyes. When he looked to Jason again, the man wasn’t mocking or jeering. The small curve of his lips was gentle, and the kindness in his blue eyes was stricken with the same breathless awe.

Even Javier—when Roy finally looked to the man—was nothing but pleased by Roy’s reaction. He silently walked to the corral’s gate, opened it for Roy, and gestured for him to enter.

Roy hesitated only a moment longer before he walked—in a dreamlike daze, almost unbelieving that this magnificent creature was real and truly his—into the corral. Jason followed behind him but stayed at his shoulder to give Roy all the time he needed to wrap his head around the reality that this stallion wouldn’t disappear with a blink of his eyes.

When Roy approached the horse, its head towered above him. The horse regarded him with a snorted inhale—nostrils flaring with the new scent—before lowering its head in a beautiful arch. Roy looked into the stallion’s eye—so vivid and bright in the dark shades of the earth, streaks like the desert lightening the iris. Within the horse’s stare, he saw the same pride of a mustang—more dignified and refined, but the same valor and strength that this stallion knew his worth.

Roy reached out a hand, fingers cupped slightly, and touched his palm to the stallion’s forehead. He stroked his hand slowly down the stallion’s face—feeling the heat of the stallion’s skin and the softness of its coat. When the stallion exhaled a long puff of air and dropped its head further—its eyes closing in a languid blink—Roy reached beneath its chin with his other hand and stroked a thumb over its opposite cheek.

He gently combed his fingers through the stallion’s silky black forelock, and like a ripple in a stream, Roy’s hand followed the current of his heart. He stroked along the horse’s neck, letting his other hand trail its chest at the same time—feeling each beat of its heart against his palm. He marveled at the golden dapples as his hand ran over them, half expecting to see soot on his palm as if the stallion’s coat was a freshly painted masterpiece.

He slowly rounded the horse. His hands never left its shiny coat. They smoothed down each leg, trailed over muscular hindquarters, stroked gentle caresses up its opposite side. So focused on his hands and memorizing every dip of muscle—each dapple stamped within the soot—when Roy reached the stallion’s head again and saw Jason standing closer—so close and yet blurred in his peripheral—Roy’s breath stilled in his lungs.

Jason stood with his head slightly bowed, the brim of his hat a mere hairsbreadth from touching the stallion’s forehead; and he tenderly held the stallion’s head within his hands. His palm cradled its chin, and his other hand lay flat upon the horse’s cheek, thumb stroking gently over the fine hairs. Jason looked upon the stallion with the same tender awe that Roy had. His blue eyes were sparkling like a child who just received their first pony; but it was in the quiet pleasure of his smile that Roy swooned.

The picture Jason and the stallion painted was one of beauty and love branded into Roy’s heart. There was only one thing missing; and if his daughter had been hanging off the stallion’s neck or perched on Jason’s shoulders, then Roy could’ve said he saw the entirety of his future in it. Not just part of his life, but his whole life. Each of his loves, happy and whole and safe.

Jason’s gaze slowly drifted to Roy, and they stared at each other for so long Roy would see those vivid hues of blue and green every night when he closed his eyes. They shared an unspoken conversation. _You were right, Roy. It took my breath away._

 _You took my breath away_ , Roy tried to say back.

Roy stepped closer until his shoulder bumped with Jason’s. He looked at his stallion, followed his hand in a long stroke down the stallion’s neck, and then turned back to Jason with a smile that wobbled with glee. “Let’s get him home,” he said, and Jason nodded his agreement.

Jason stayed with the stallion while Roy settled the final purchase with Javier. He handed over the bank notes, and as soon as he had the bill of sale in hand, Roy bid goodbye—sputtering in his gratefulness to the man—and rushed out of the estate house like a man on the run.

When he exited through the grand archway, Jason was already mounted and waiting in the stableyard for him. The mule and the stallion were tied to Jason’s saddle horn, and when Roy approached, Jason handed over the reins to Roy’s gelding. Wired so high on adrenaline and euphoric delight, Roy jumped into the saddle without swinging up from a stirrup; and Jason smirked at him when he handed over the stallion’s lead.

“Easy there, cowboy, you’re gonna run out of steam at that rate,” Jason teased as he nudged his horse forward with a squeeze of his legs.

“There isn’t a single goddamned thing that could ruin my mood right now,” Roy proclaimed as he twisted to wave a final goodbye to Javier. When he turned back to Jason, urging his gelding into a trot to catch up, he smirked at him—daring and challenging and feeling so very invincible that he’d willingly fight a bear if they happened upon one. “The only thing stopping me from galloping all the way home is that three of these equines wouldn’t make it, and I’d feel bad leaving you with their carcasses.”

“Is that right?” Jason said, voice pitching higher with a teasing tone. “You wouldn’t let me ride the stallion with you?”

Roy drummed his fingers on the saddle horn and tipped his chin upward with a purse of his lips. A low, exaggerated hum echoed in the air around them. “I might consider it if you asked nicely.”

They held each other’s gazes in narrowed, daring stares for only a short moment before they both keeled over with snorted laughter.

Roy knew the trip home would be long; it always did seem longer getting home than it did going out. But with Jason’s company, he knew the days would go by quickly; and soon enough, they’d be back at his ranch, and he could once again ask Jason to stay on with him. Only this time, Roy wouldn’t ask him to stay as a ranch hand.

* * *

“It’s gonna rain.”

The words cut through the heat of the desert and pierced Roy’s ears like a sudden jab of a hand that jarred his brain against his skull. Jaw slack and lips parted, he stared incredulously at Jason. “Uh… you need some water there, bud?” Roy reached for his canteen and offered it out to Jason. “Think you might be a tad bit dehydrated.”

With a furrowed frown, Jason batted at the canteen. The water inside it sloshed as it fell from Roy’s grasp, dangling from where its strap caught on Roy’s wrist. “I’m fine,” he snarled, sharp and cutting; and immediately, he reeled back with a weary sigh that had his shoulders slumping forward. “Sorry,” he said, bowing his head. He reached to pull his hat from his head and held it in the same hand as his reins. With his other, he combed back the sweat-slick curls that were matted to his forehead.

With a grimace that twisted Jason’s skin tight, he pressed the pads of his fingers against the hardened, pale scar tissue of his cheek. He massaged the skin, but the tightness of his clenched jaw didn’t ease in the slightest. “It’s gonna rain,” he said again, harsh but quiet.

Jason’s kneading fingers slipped lower beneath his jaw. They scratched over his bandana and pressed along his jugular. He squeezed his eyes shut as his fingers closed around his throat—cupping and holding pressure as if blood gurgled out.

With a shuddering breath, Jason’s fingers curled tight—his knuckles whitened with the force—before he released his grip. He rolled his shoulders back, absently rubbing at the exact place Roy knew a gunshot wound to be, before lifting his hat back to his head. When he looked back to Roy, it was with narrowed eyes and a tight grimace. “I can feel it; my whole body aches.”

Roy glanced at the sky. With squinted eyes, he could barely stand to stare at the rays of the sun and the heat waves that washed through the never-ending blue. Not a cloud in sight for as far as the eye could see. Just more baked earth and protruding rock formations. But as he looked back to Jason—noting the pallor of his face and the desperate wetness glistening in his irises—Roy knew they needed to find a spot to wait out whatever was coming. Whether it be a storm of rain or dust, Roy trusted Jason’s instincts.

“Alright,” Roy said with a simple nod. “Keep an eye out for a place we can ride out the rain.”

They followed the rocky knolls and jutting mountains until they found a dried-up riverbed. It fed into the side of the desert mountain, creating a long, narrow gorge that cut through the earth. The arching overhang of its mouth provided the perfect shelter from any rain or whipping wind that might come their way, so they rode the horses in and dismounted beneath its shade.

Roy drove a pair of stakes into the earth, tied a rope between them, and then tied the horses and mule to it. When he was finished securing them, he turned back to find Jason sitting against the rock wall, head tipped back—hat flattened and smooshed between his skull and the rock—with his eyes squeezed so tightly shut his eyelids trembled. He grasped at his neck again like the old wound had ripped open and the life of him sluggishly gushed through his fingers.

Roy approached carefully, scuffing his boots against the loose stones to announce his every step. “Jason,” he quietly said once he reached the man’s side, but there was no reaction. He crouched down and reached out for Jason, but he paused before his touch could make contact.

Horrifyingly, he realized he had no idea what Jason needed. Would his touch have more pain bruising Jason’s skin? Would Jason slap his hand away; would he wince or shy from Roy’s touch? Would he lash out, lost in the pain of these past wounds and forget who it was by his side?

“Jason,” Roy tried again. Desperately—helplessly—his fingers flexed around nothing but air, so close to Jason’s arm and yet so far from feeling the warmth of his skin.

A rushed breath breezed past Roy’s lips when Jason peeled his eyes open and dragged his gaze to meet Roy’s. Half-lidded and watery, Jason stared at Roy with lucidity despite the aching clench of his jaw and the trembling of his fingers pressed to his throat.

“Are… are you okay?” God, Roy could smack himself upside the head. Of course, Jason wasn’t okay. The man was practically writhing in pain, his boot digging a deeper groove into the earth with each passing breath.

Despite that—despite the fire coursing through Jason’s blood, hot and scorching, sizzling like his skin had beneath the brand—Jason snorted a breath, and for the barest of moments, the corners of his lips lifted. But it quickly washed away with a wincing groan. Jason peered through heavy lashes—the hairs matted with beads of stubbornly unshed tears—and he opened his mouth to respond.

But only a silent breath escaped him. He bit down against the sudden frustration as his fingers sank deeper into his throat. He ground his skull back against the rock and whined, low and piercing; and when he stared at Roy—his gaze bleeding and raw like Roy had never seen, _vulnerable_ in a way Jason hated to be—Roy understood the message he tried to convey as if Jason had screamed it from his lungs.

Roy lowered himself to the ground, and he felt the hard press of the rock dig into his back. He scooted closer to Jason until he could press his shoulder up against him. And this time, Roy did reach out. He laid a firm yet gentle hand over Jason’s bent knee, kneading over Jason’s trousers in slow, soothing scratches.

As he stared out at the desert, Jason’s shallow breaths echoed in Roy’s ears. Each shuddering inhale sent a vibration rippling through Jason’s chest, and Roy felt the tremors and quakes as if the earth was opening up beneath them.

But it wasn’t the earth that suddenly split in two. No, the deep rumble that cracked through the air was that of thunder. Dark clouds rolled in like a plague of locusts, encompassing the pale blue of the sky and blotting out the sun in a haze of gray. Roy saw the curtain of rain before the fat droplets pelted down upon the earth in harsh splatters. The rainwater cascaded in long, dripping trails over the mouth of the gorge, and Roy was woefully grateful they didn’t get caught up in the downpour.

Woeful, because it was Jason’s pain that warned them. It was his aching wounds that saved them from having to strip down and try to start a fire to dry out their clothes before the freezing chill of nightfall set in.

The storm rolled through as quickly as it came, leaving the withered earth sated for the half hour it took the sun to dry it out again.

Jason slowly eased out of his tight, coiled hold on his neck. The tension bled away like the last droplets of rain dripping from the overhand of the gorge. He shifted, spreading his knee until it rested atop Roy’s thigh; and Roy let his touch linger. His hand drifted with Jason’s movement, sliding to cup the meat of his thigh and squeezing lightly.

Jason’s chest expanded with a slow, deep breath, and with the billowing exhale through his nostrils, the hand at his neck fell away completely. His knuckles hit the earth, and his fingers absently flexed and curled.

When he turned his head to Roy—before his lashes slowly blinked open—Roy’s gaze flicked to where Jason’s bandana bunched low on his neck. The skin was an angry red around the thick, whitened scar.

Roy dragged his eyes back to Jason’s face. He looked upon the man with such deep concern that when Jason stared back, he saw his own reflection swimming among that bleeding worry.

“I’m okay,” Jason said, the barest breath of a raspy whisper. He sucked in a deep inhale and let it sit in his lungs for a long moment. He tipped his stare out to the desert—lifting his hand to feather a touch along the indented scar at his neck—and exhaled as his hand dropped listlessly to his lap.

Roy chewed at his inner cheek as he debated speaking. Finally, he swallowed down his hesitation and gave Jason’s thigh a squeeze. “I know it’s none of my business,” Roy began, “so tell me to buzz off if you’d like… but your neck… Who did that to you?”

Jason bowed his head forward and reached to grab his crumpled hat. He smoothed out its brim and pushed out its top before dropping it atop Roy’s hold on his thigh, letting his knuckles linger for a long moment before pulling away. “My father,” he said with a bitter quietness. “The bastard ran with the Two Face gang, let the boys beat up on his actual little boy. Didn’t much like it when that little boy got big and started throwing punches of his own.”

Roy wet his dry lips and inhaled a steady breath. He turned his gaze out to the desert as well and stroked his thumb in short swipes over Jason’s leg. “I’m sorry,” Roy said. For what, he wasn’t quite sure. For asking, maybe. For dredging up memories Jason surely wished to forget. For the pain that Roy couldn’t alleviate. Because it was the only thing he could think to say in that moment.

“Don’t be. The bastard’s dead,” Jason said with a harshness to his voice, and Roy didn’t have to ask to know it had been by his own hands. And then Jason chuckled, short and indignant. “Sure did leave his mark, though. Couldn’t let his goddamned son live in peace, could he?”

Jason lolled his head back to rest against the rock. His eyelids closed, and his chest expanded with breath. “I know you want to get home quickly, but would you mind if we called it a day?”

“Not at all,” Roy said. They’d only be wasting two hours of daylight tops, and they weren’t going to find a better, more secure place to bed down for the night. And even if that weren’t the case, Roy would abandon a whole day to let Jason rest.

With a grunt and a final squeeze to Jason’s thigh, Roy pushed himself to his feet. Jason’s hat slipped to the earth, half resting against Jason’s leg. “I’ll go find some brush to start a fire.”

As Roy stepped out of the shade of the gorge, he heard the quiet, grateful words said behind him. “Thanks, Roy. I appreciate it.”

* * *

If Roy and Jason thought the rain was horrid luck, then fate was a cruel master. The following day, barely an hour after departing their little nook in the mouth of the gorge, a gunshot rang out like a clap of thunder. Roy heard the grunted profanity before another shot drowned out Jason’s mutterings.

As Roy held tight to his reins—yanking them against his stomach to keep the startled gelding from bolting out from under him—he yelled Jason’s name.

“I’m fine!” Jason shouted back even as he grasped at his shoulder, shirt torn and blood staining it an even muddier crimson. His head swiveled as he scanned the horizon; and when he spotted their assailants, he spun his horse—its hindquarters knocking into the mule and causing a domino effect of stamping hooves and ornery snorts from the stallion and Roy’s gelding. “Up there! On the ridge!”

Roy’s eyes snapped to the left, and sure enough, there was a pair of riders kicking their horses down the steep, rocky incline. With one of their guns raised and aimed at Roy and Jason, the boy—because he was too lanky and small to be a man, and goddammit all to hell, Roy didn’t want to be shooting at a pair of kids—fired recklessly down the mountainside.

“Shit!” Roy didn’t know which of them said it, but damn if they weren’t both thinking it. They scrambled off their horses and tugged them for the nearest cover. Two more shots ricocheted off the ground, sending dust and dirt flying; but the boy’s aim was wide and to the left.

Roy and Jason ran for an outcropping of jagged boulders and the twining brush of a small desert knoll. They stopped long enough to grab their rifles from their scabbards and untie the stallion and mule’s leads. With a few harsh shouts and a slap to the gelding’s rump, the equines ran a little ways off; and Roy could only hope they could catch at least one of them once this was settled.

They bolted for the rocks. Jason dropped down and skidded on his knees to press his side against the cover of a jagged boulder. Roy ducked down opposite him, a narrow game trail separating their respective spots.

With the echo of whooping hollers and foolhardy, indiscriminate shots into the air piercing the stillness of the desert, Roy leveled the barrel of his rifle on top of the rock. He hunched low and stared down the barrel at the teenagers as they whipped their mounts into a hard gallop. Roy tracked their direction and swore when he realized they weren’t chasing after him and Jason anymore.

“Those sons of bitches!” Roy cursed as he lined up a shot.

But before his finger could squeeze the trigger and send a bullet whizzing for the boy’s mount—intent on grazing the horse just enough to have it rearing up and dumping the boy off its back—a resounding bang echoed beside him.

Roy watched helplessly as the boy’s body jerked, going completely still before slumping to the side and falling in a heap of dust on the desert earth. With horror in his eyes, his head whipped to his companion. “Jason, he’s just a—”

“I know!” Jason snapped, and he jerked his rifle back at the boy. “He’s fine. That little bastard might have shit aim, but I don’t.”

Roy turned back to the desert below and heaved a weary sigh when he saw the boy scrambling to his feet. Shaky and scared—sniveling sobs replacing the obnoxious hollering—the boy grasped at the graze that cut through the outer flesh of his upper arm.

Jason cocked his rifle and fired off another shot. It bit into the earth with a deafening thud; and the boy yelped—nearly jumping out of his own skin—and ran for his horse. The kid’s partner rode back around and blocked the view of his friend with his horse’s bulk. He fired at Jason and Roy, and they both ducked back behind the rocks.

It was Jason who inched further out to peer around the boulder. His searching gaze suddenly narrowed, and he drew his pistol from its holster. “Stupid little bastards don’t know when to quit.”

Jason fired at their horses’ hooves. Close enough to send shrapnel of dirt into the equines’ bellies but careful not to actually hit the horses, Jason shot all five rounds. When he ducked back to reload, Roy drew his own gun and fired over the boys’ heads.

“Oh, come on!” Roy shouted as he watched the teenagers round up their geldings. They each took one, but it wasn’t until the unwounded boy cornered Roy’s stallion—snorting and rearing and gnashing its blunt teeth at every reach for its halter—against the mountainside that Roy’s blood seethed.

Roy scrambled to pop out his gun’s cylinder and load bullets into its chambers. They weren’t getting that stallion. Take the damn geldings; hell, the mule already ran off to god knew where, and Roy would have to shell out twenty-five dollars to cover the livery’s loss. But that stallion wasn’t replaceable. It was worth one hundred pack mules and then some. Priceless, if you asked Roy.

The cylinder fell back into place with a sharp roll, and Roy pulled back the hammer. He took aim at the boy’s back.

A sharp bang rang out, and the thud of a body hitting the earth startled both Roy and the boys. Jason’s sorrel gelding—the horse with a shiny red coat that matched its owner shirt, the ornery beast who wasn’t agreeable so early in the day, the gelding affectionately named Whiskey—lay in an unmoving heap on the desert earth.

Roy’s attention whipped to Jason, staring at the thin wisp of smoke trailing from the barrel of his gun before darting to Jason’s face. The man’s grimace was hard and etched deep crevices along the lines of his mouth, his eyebrows furrowed and his brow between them pinched tight.

“Jason, you didn’t have to…”

Jason didn’t so much as blink at Roy’s sorrowful words. His stare—and aim—remained fixed on the boys, unrelenting; and that unwavering fury was so thick and potent that it permeated across the expanse of desert and had the boys abandoning the stallion. They cut their losses and rode off with only Roy’s gelding in tow.

For good measure, Jason emptied his pistol at their heels; and only when the gun clicked with each pull of the trigger did Jason slump down behind the rock. He holstered his gun and turned to press his back against the stone. With a teeth-grinding groan, he tore at his shirt to expose the bullet wound in his shoulder.

The sight of the wound—a rounded puncture with blackened blood oozing from the flesh—jolted Roy’s heartrate; and he scrambled across the rocks to kneel beside Jason. “Shit,” Roy swore as he reached for the man. With one hand on Jason’s shoulder and the other sliding around his ribs to his back, Roy carefully tipped Jason forward.

There was no exit wound.

The flat of Jason’s palm pushed at Roy’s shoulder. “Go get the stallion, dumbass.”

“But—”

“Me and this bullet aren’t going anywhere. That horse, though,” Jason jerked his chin in the direction of the sooty buckskin before slumping back against the rock, “if he runs off, we’re as good as dead out here.”

Roy chewed at his cheek so hard he tasted copper on his tongue, but Jason was right. He stood, his touch lingering on Jason’s shoulder—squeezing gently—before his fingers slipped away. He turned and slid down the knoll on the heels of his boots. He hit the desert earth running and only slowed when he neared his stallion.

With palms raised and carefully soft steps, Roy murmured to the stallion as he approached. “Hey there, buddy. You’re okay. You’re safe now.” The stallion’s chest heaved with snorted breaths, and it pawed a hoof at the dirt. “Easy, now.” Roy reached to press a firm, tender touch to the stallion’s face, stroking down its nose in one long pet. “There we go,” Roy quietly cooed when the stallion dropped its thick head and exhaled one long, heated sigh through its nostrils.

Roy grasped the stallion’s dangling lead line and led it back to the rocky knoll. He tied it in the brush and patted its neck before jogging back to where Jason still sat behind a jagged boulder.

“How ya doing, Ja—” Roy started but the man’s name lodged in his throat at the shine of blood on the jack knife on the ground and the sticky, congealing mess of Jason’s fingers.

With a shaky smile and a trembling hand, Jason held the bullet in the pinch of his thumb and forefinger. “Got it out,” he rasped, chest quaking with each stilted breath. His hand dropped to his side, and his fingers clenched around the bullet in a white-knuckled fist. “You got a match on ya?”

Roy blinked out of his stupor and blindly patted at his vest. He reached into the inner pocket and pulled out a small book of matches. “Yeah.”

Jason nodded before letting his head loll back against the stone. He swallowed down a thick gulp, and Roy watched the bob of his throat with the heat of trepidation roiling in his gut. “Good, good,” Jason muttered. He peered through lidded lashes and stared hard at Roy. “Now listen. I need you to crack open some bullets and dump the gunpowder in the wound. And don’t be stingy with it. I only wanna do this once.”

“Wh—” Roy gaped at Jason as the implication of his instructions set in. “Oh, absolutely not. No way in hell am I—”

“Roy!” Jason ground out. His knuckles fisted into the rock, and then, suddenly, he whipped the bloody bullet at Roy’s chest. It hit him with a dull thud against his vest before bouncing off the rocks at his feet. Jason sank back with a grunted groan, and when he fixed his stare upon Roy, it was lethal. “Don’t make me do it myself.” Jason’s burning blue eyes squeezed shut, and his nostrils flared with a shuddering inhale. “Never did get it right on the first try.”

Roy’s eyes darted to Jason’s neck, then higher to the indistinguishable brand on his cheek, widening as he stared, before he bit out a sharp click of his tongue. “Fine, fine!” he snapped as his hands fumbled with his gun belt, popping bullets out of their loops and into his palm. He dropped to his knees beside Jason and reached for the fallen jack knife.

As he pried open the cartridges, he felt the slickness of Jason’s blood stick to his hand. It smudged around the knife’s handle and painted each crevicing line of Roy’s palm a sickly browning red. He ignored the queasy rumbling of his stomach in favor of tearing a match from its book and swiping it along the backside of his boot.

“You ready?” Roy asked, because they only had one shot at this going smoothly, and he had to be quick about it. The gunpowder couldn’t sit in the wound long; if it soaked up too much blood, it’d become too wet to light.

Jason sucked in a lungful of air and brace himself against the stone. With teeth clenched so tightly Roy could hear the ache of their grind, Jason jerked a nod.

Unceremoniously, Roy dumped the gunpowder over the wound, and before he even had the time to pull his hand away completely, he brought the flame of the match close and touched it to the powder. A spark popped with a quiet bang, and the whole mound of gunpowder fizzled with flame. It sizzled and sparked—the sound accompanied by Jason’s little whimpers and the writhing of his boots against stone. As quickly as it lit, the flame died out with one final crackle, and a thin trail of white smoke drifted from the sooty remains.

Roy snuffed the match between his fingers before dropping it to the brush. Gingerly, he prodded around the wound, feeling the feverish heat of Jason’s skin but finding no freshly oozing blood smearing the soot. When he pulled his fingers back, they were stained black.

Shuffling to press his body against Jason, Roy weaseled an arm around Jason’s back and hooked it under his armpit. His other hand grasped tightly at Jason’s belt, and with a heave, Roy helped the man to his feet. “Let’s get you to a doctor,” Roy said with a grunt. He supported some of Jason’s weight as they eased slowly down the knoll.

“Don’t need one,” Jason mumbled.

“Bullshit, you don’t.” Roy regarded Jason’s sweaty brow and bowed head with open concern. The man’s breath came in short little gasps, and his paled cheeks were flushed a glistening red.

Jason either didn’t have the energy to argue or he knew a losing battle when he saw one. Roy doubted the latter, and that only made his heart ache sharper in his chest. They shuffled over to where Roy tied the stallion, and Roy reached to grab the horse’s halter and hold him steady.

“Wait,” Jason said. He pushed away from Roy and stumbled toward the expanse of the desert. “My saddle… we can use… my tack…”

Roy caught Jason by the waist, spinning him and pulling him back in. Slightly daze, Jason just blinked at Roy as if confused to be looking at him instead of the carcass of his horse.

Roy, though, he struggled to breathe. Air stilled in his lungs, and he didn’t realize his mistake until Jason was so close he could see the smattering of moisture clinging to his eyelashes. His fingers flexed against Jason’s waist, and he hesitantly lifted his opposite hand to smooth the sweaty, matted hair back from Jason’s forehead.

Roy swallowed as Jason tilted his head into the touch, eyelids closing in bliss as he relished the refreshing coolness of Roy’s fingers. “I… I got it,” Roy spoke, voice raw in the quiet whisper. He steered Jason backward one slow step at a time until he could coax the man to rest against the rocks of the knoll.

When he was certain Jason would remain seated and upright, Roy ventured over to the dead horse. In a moment of silence, Roy knelt beside its head and feathered his knuckles along the fine hairs of the gelding’s cheek. His touch was gentle as his fingers slid beneath the horse’s headstall and eased its leather piece over its ears. Retrieving the saddle was a little more challenging, and Roy could only hope the animal’s soul would forgive him for being rougher in his pulls and shoves to free the saddle’s fender and stirrup from beneath its mass.

He gathered all of Jason’s gear—tack, bedroll, saddle bag, the rifle scabbard, the canteen and lasso that hung from the saddle horn—and trudged back to the stallion with it all hanging from his arms or draped over his shoulders.

As he tacked up the stallion, Roy couldn’t help but think how lovely Jason’s saddle looked on its back. A lightly tanned leather—with the reddish hue of desert earth—contrasted beautifully with the sooty dapples of the stallion’s back. And somehow, seeing Jason’s tack on his stallion seemed right. Maybe it was the sacrifice Jason willingly made to protect this stallion; Roy didn’t know. But no matter, for in Roy’s mind, this horse was as much Jason’s as it was his.

When Roy turned to help Jason up and led him to the stallion’s side, Jason puffed a sardonic chuckle. “Thought you said I had to ask nicely to ride this guy.”

“Changed my mind.”

Roy steadied a hand between Jason’s shoulder blades as his other found purchase in his belt. When Jason pushed his weight down on the stirrup, Roy helped heave him into the saddle. Jason slumped forward over the saddle horn. He held onto it with both hands as Roy gathered the reins in one of his. Roy grasped the hair at the base of the stallion’s neck and slipped the very tip of his boot into the stirrup beneath Jason’s. After a few bounces to gain momentum, Roy swung up behind Jason and settled—albeit a little uncomfortably—on the saddle’s cantle and Jason’s bedroll.

With a nudge of his legs, the stallion walked forward in long, flowy strides. Roy steered the stallion with one hand, and he rested that hand atop Jason’s on the saddle horn. Palm down, the reins hooked around Roy’s thumb so he could grasp Jason’s hands and stroke soothing little pets over the man’s knuckles.

Gradually, Jason’s seething pain subsided to dull, throbbing aches. His breaths steadied out, and when he drooped back against Roy’s chest, it was from exhaustion more than delirium. As Jason turned his cheek into Roy’s neck, Roy glanced down at the man. The urge to run his fingers through Jason’s hair—to comb the sweaty curls out of his eyes—grasped at Roy’s heart, and without hesitating, Roy lifted his hand and swept back the curls. His touch lingered in Jason’s hair, softly kneading and scratching the man’s scalp.

When Roy successfully drew a contented little sigh from Jason’s lips, a swelling of warmth flooded his chest. He tipped his chin down to rest it on Jason’s hair, and he let his eyes slowly slide shut.

Jason had survived worse; the evidence of his tortures and tribulations scarred his body. He’d be okay. He had to be.

Roy kept telling himself that as they rode silently through the desert, because he wasn’t ready to let go of Jason. He never wanted to say that goodbye.

* * *

“I keep telling you; I’m fine.”

Jason had woken up as the town came into view in the distance, and he was grumpy. Prickly. He bristled when Roy told him they’d find a doctor first thing. And stubbornly, Jason had sat up straighter and refused to rest against Roy as if that was the one sign Roy needed to know Jason was indeed fine.

But Roy was a stubbornly selfish man himself, and he wrapped his arms around Jason’s waist and planted his chin on the man’s shoulder. Jason shrugged his shoulders to try to dislodge him, but Roy merely rolled with the movements. “You’re seeing a doctor even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming,” Roy said lowly, stern and warning in that promise.

With a huffed sigh, Jason grumbled out a sharp, “Fine!” He planted his hand to Roy’s face in a dull slap and pushed the man and his itchy beard off his shoulder.

Prideful in his grin, Roy lightly squeezed Jason around the waist before letting one hand drop to rest on Jason’s thigh and returning the other to steering the stallion. They rode into town mid-afternoon; and plenty of heads turned in their direction. Whether it be curiosity over the weary pair or awe at the majesty of the horse they rode in on, Roy didn’t much care. He was focused on one thing only.

He asked an old lady where the doctor’s office was, and she pointed them down a quiet side street. It was easy enough to find, and Roy hopped off the stallion to tie him to the hitching post. Jason dismounted stiffly with a slow swing of his leg and a quiet grunt.

When Jason stepped toward the building—Roy following at his heels—Jason spun and jabbed a finger at Roy’s sternum. “Nuh-uh,” he said. “I didn’t get shot to have that horse stolen out from under us. You stay and keep an eye on him.”

“Jason, it’ll be—”

Jason jerked his head toward the main street, and Roy followed his gaze where a small gathering of townsfolk peered at them. A couple of the children were more open in their excitement at seeing such a pretty horse—bouncing about and yanking on a guardian’s sleeve—but more of the people were whispering to one another, and yeah, a few of those fellas staring at them looked a bit unsavory.

Roy stepped back and leaned against the hitching post. With his arms crossed tightly over his chest, he stared at Jason expectantly; and the man just rolled his eyes before walking into the doctor’s office.

It wasn’t much later when Jason came strolling out with the gray-haired doctor holding the door open for him. Through the tear of his shirt, Roy saw fresh bandages wrapping Jason’s shoulder, and Jason curtly thanked the man before returning to Roy.

“Well?” Roy asked as he pushed off the hitching post.

“Said I was fit as a fiddle.”

From over Jason’s shoulder, the doctor corrected him, “I said he’d be fit as a fiddle after a couple days’ rest.”

With an arched eyebrow, Roy tilted a stare of exasperated amusement at Jason. Jason, though, spun around and seethed at the doctor; but the man shrugged with an indifference that said he’d treated and tamed far more dangerous patients than a man who sheepishly shrunk beneath his companion’s frustration.

“Guess we better find a place to stay for a few days then.”

“No.”

“No?” Roy’s fingers slackened from his grip on the reins, ready to pull the knot loose from the post.

“No,” Jason said again, firmer. “I’m telling you I’m fine. Let’s go buy a horse from the livery and be on our way.”

“Jason, the doc just said—”

“I have ears, Harper; I heard him.” With hunched shoulders and heavy steps, Jason marched back toward the main street, leaving Roy to fumble with the reins and pull at the stallion to catch up.

When Roy fell into step beside Jason, he glanced a peek at the man’s face. On the surface, he looked angry. Seething with steam blowing out his ears, but beneath that was a wounded pride and the dull throbbing of a body in pain. Jason’s deep scowl parted the crowd when they neared the main street, and Roy sighed in defeat.

“Okay. But we go slow, and if you need to stop to rest, you tell me. Got it? I don’t want to turn around and see you collapsed on the ground cause you’re too goddamned stubborn to let your shoulder heal.”

Jason’s blazing gaze—somehow the blue of his eyes catching flame and crackling like embers—flicked to Roy. They held his stare—considering, searching, finding no mockery or pity looking back at him. With a heated exhale through his nostrils, Jason reminded Roy of an ornery bull; but like ornery bulls, they weren’t so dangerous when showed the proper respect.

Jason jerked a nod, and the two of them went down to the livery stable to buy a horse for Jason and a cheap set of tack for Roy. They pulled the bills to pay out of their boots, and together they scrounged up just enough to cover the costs and have a bit left over to buy provisions for the trail.

They didn’t stay the night in town. Jason wasn’t comfortable leaving Roy’s stallion unprotected in the livery, so with only a couple hours of daylight left, they rode out.

* * *

It was a slow pace, but when they stopped to make camp that night, they had finally reached the craggy countryside Roy was more familiar with. The baked earth of the desert and its open, vulnerable expanses of tumbleweeds and cacti were left behind. They bedded the horses down in the cover of sparse pine trees, and Roy built a fire not far away.

Once the tiny spark licked higher among the tinder and sunk its blazing fangs into the bark of the sticks, Roy turned his attention to Jason. The man leaned back against the saddle, and the rolling orange glow of the fire illuminated the glistening sweat of his brow.

As Roy approached him, Jason cracked open one of his eyes and squinted up at Roy. With a curious tilt of his head, Jason watched Roy kneel down and reach for his shirt. One button at a time—with deft, sure fingers—Roy’s touch trailed down Jason’s chest until he could peel away the left side of his shirt. Exhaling a quiet sigh, Jason allowed Roy to lift the bandages and check the wound, but not without a few vexing words.

“You don’t need to mother-hen me, Roy. I’m not dying on ya.”

Roy’s hands stilled, and he visibly swallowed a dry lump of air. With a sheepish chuckle, he patted the bandages back into place and rocked back onto his heels before dropping to sit on the ground. He scratched at his neck and drew his knees up. “Uh, yeah… sorry.”

The smile on his face was small and sad, not reaching his eyes to crinkle their corners in the way Jason had grown used to. So Jason waited, silently watching the other, neither pressing for more nor ignoring the matter entirely. If Roy wanted to talk, he would. That much Jason knew.

And after a few short moments, Roy lifted his gaze. His eyes shifted upward, but his head remained bowed; and the knuckles of his hand flexed and tightened with another rough rub at his nape. “Sorry,” Roy said again. “You getting hurt and all just makes me worry and miss home even more.”

He had only just gotten to know Jason, was still learning his ticks and tells. Yet, he could’ve very easily lost him back in the desert, and to a bunch of snot-nosed brats at that. He had a lot of time to stew over that, both when Jason was pressed to his chest and wrapped within his arms riding into town and during the quiet few hours they rode before deciding to bed down here for the night.

Roy hadn’t realized how deeply entwined Jason had become in his view of the future. He had wanted this man to stay with him after this trip more than anything, but if Jason had refused, he thought he’d be able to say goodbye with a modicum of dignity. But now, Roy knew that wasn’t the case.

Roy could still hear the echo of that gunshot in his ears, and it scared him half to death. If the boy had more experience, his aim might’ve landed a bullet straight through Jason’s chest. And Jason would’ve died without ever seeing the home Roy built, without ever getting to settle down and sink his calloused hands into soil that bore fruit, without getting to see this stallion’s first foal take its first wobbly steps. Roy would’ve never been able to introduce him to Lian.

And god, Lian. He missed his little sweet pea dearly. What if something had happened to her? He trusted Dick and Kori to keep her safe; but things happened that no one could control. Jason got shot, so what was stopping the fates from hurting his little girl when he wasn’t around to protect her? Had she scraped her knees, and he wasn’t there to wipe away her tears and kiss it better? What if she fell out of one of those apple trees she loved to climb and broke an arm or a leg? He wouldn’t have been there to hold her hand while the doctor plastered a cast around the limb.

With a frustrated groan, Roy raked both his hands through his long tendrils of red hair—pushing his cowboy hat completely off—and held his head between his hands, elbows planted against his raised knees. He stared at the smoldering ash at the very edge of the burning sticks and curled his fingers tighter until he felt his blunt nails biting at his scalp.

But with a deep inhale—holding it in his lungs until his chest ached—Roy blew out a weary sigh, and his fingers slackened until they simply rested in his hair. His gaze flicked higher to find Jason watching him—patient and quiet—and Roy figured he should try his best to explain himself. “You getting shot…” Roy started, letting his eyes slip back to the flickering shadows on the ground, “…it just makes me worry. About you. About home. About my daughter. I can’t do anything to protect her right now, so I guess I’m being… a little overbearing with you.” Roy sheepishly chuckled, smiling as he lifted his head. “Sorry.”

But Jason didn’t laugh. That calm patience that relaxed his rugged features washed away with widened eyes. “You…” he started, but the words tangled on his tongue. The curve of his boots scraped against the ground as he adjusted his legs to sit up straighter. He swallowed a dry lump in his throat and frowned, staring at Roy with something so raw—sad, even hurt—that Roy didn’t understand. “You have a daughter?”

The question was soft-spoken, almost a whisper in the encroaching night.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Lian. I guess I never mentioned her.”

Jason’s chest expanded with a carefully controlled breath, and with its exhale, his eyes slid shut. “So, you’re married, then?”

The words were still quiet, but there was a bitterness lacing them. An accusation hidden within them that finally clicked with Roy. It was betrayal. That same wounded pride when Jason had been shot by some horse-rustling brat.

It both pained and excited Roy to hear those words. He hadn’t meant to hurt Jason—would never dream of doing so—but they gave him hope that maybe, just maybe, Roy wasn’t the only one who’s heart grew irrevocably fonder of the other.

“I’m not married,” Roy said, and Jason’s eyes snapped open with a bewildered frown. “I’m not,” Roy again. “It’s, uh, complicated… I guess.” Roy sighed—a quiet, throaty rumble—because dammit he always hated explaining this; but Jason deserved it. Jason needed to hear it; because if Roy wanted any future with him, he had to be okay with Lian okay.

“Her mother and I… we were sweethearts about six years ago. It got heated fast, and I was planning to marry her; but out of the blue, she said she wanted to go out east to further her education. And I wasn’t gonna stop her. I had big dreams of my own, so I understood. I didn’t want to get in her way.” Roy scratched at his nape, and he laughed a little awkwardly. “I should’ve known. I mean, plenty of girls go out east for schooling and come back nine months later with a babe on their hip. I was ready for a shotgun wedding, but she said she met someone else out east. She wanted to start a family with him, and he didn’t want to raise some other man’s child.”

Roy still dreaded the day when Lian started school next fall and the other kids teased her for not having a mom. He promised himself he wouldn’t get into fights with a seven-year-old bully, but he might have to punch a few fathers if they didn’t raise their kids well enough to be kind and accepting of other people’s lives. Because he wouldn’t stand for Lian coming home crying one day and wondering why she was so unloved that even her mother didn’t want her.

Because that was bullshit. Roy loved Lian more than life itself; and he would never let his little girl believe otherwise.

“So, no, I’m not married,” Roy said. With a tender smile, he continued, “But I have a daughter. Her name’s Lian, and I promised her she could name that stallion when I brought him home.”

Jerking a small nod, Jason slumped back against his saddle. He seemed to breathe out a sigh of relief. When he blinked open his eyes to look at Roy, it was with genuine interest that he asked, “She’s about five, then?”

“Yeah.”

A quiet, mirthful snort puffed from Jason’s nostrils. “You’re letting a five-year-old name that beautiful stallion? You know he’s gonna end up being named Spots or Dots or something like that, right?”

Roy quietly laughed, and he felt that momentary pressure lift from his heart. His chest felt light and airy, and as he gazed at Jason’s crooked smile, he knew they were okay again. Hell, they were probably more than okay. But he wouldn’t push it just yet. One revelation was enough for tonight.

“Yeah,” Roy said with a breathy, mirthful rumble of laughter. “My bet is on Sunshine. Or maybe Sprinkles.”

With a chest quaking with amusement, Jason lifted a hand to his lips and ducked his head as he laughed. The glow of the fire danced along his cheeks—his lashes casting long shadows across his skin—and Roy bit at his inner lip to keep his heart from leaping out his throat.

Jason really was beautiful. There was nothing more stunning than this rough, hardened man—beaten down by the world and covered in its scars—softening with laughter. Deep and rumbling, each quake of his chest caused this magical sound that Roy knew very few people had the pleasure of listening to. He considered himself truly blessed to be trusted by Jason enough to see the way his irises shone so brightly—moisture clinging at their edges—as he grasped at his middle, bowing forward and smile growing ever wider.

“Sprinkles,” Jason wheezed out with laughter, and it was so contagious that Roy’s shoulders shook with stifled little snorts. “Can you imagine having to call that magnificent beast Sprinkles?”

The two of them—with quivering smiles and delight dancing in their eyes—stared at each other for a short moment before each tipping forward in their deep, hearty laughter. Close enough that Jason’s curls hung along Roy’s wispy hair, they shared the same breath of laughter; and when Jason’s hand grabbed at Roy’s shoulder to steady himself, that warmth spread like a blanket over Roy’s skin—pulsing with a life of its own.

It was a warmth—a happiness—Roy never wanted to let go of, and he absently wondered if Jason felt the same way.

* * *

Roy scribbled down his message for the woman at the telegraph office. Short and sweet, simply telling Dick he’d be home in two days, Roy and Jason hung around and waited for the woman to tap his message through. With each coded click, Roy’s blood buzzed louder within his ears.

He was so close. Two more days and he’d be home again. He could hug his daughter and sleep in his own bed and eat an actual meal.

His brilliant green eyes slipped to Jason as they exited the office. He wanted Jason to be a part of that. He wanted to set an extra place at his table. He wanted the heat of Jason’s body wrapped up in his covers. He wanted his arm wrapped around Jason’s shoulders, their heads tipped together with Lian sandwiched between them, as they read her bedtime stories until she fell asleep clutching her teddy bear.

Roy wanted all that and so much more.

Suddenly—with so much eager adrenaline coursing through his veins—Roy grabbed Jason’s forearm and tugged him into the opening of an alleyway. He spun to face him, letting him go and meeting the slight confusion in Jason’s eyes with a hopefulness of his own.

“About that job I offered you,” Roy said, and Jason bristled slightly. It was the same as when he found out Roy had a daughter. His shoulders strung tight, and he clenched his jaw as if squaring up for a fight. Or disappointment, as if Roy might retract the offer. But Roy wouldn’t let him think that at all. “I still want you to stay on.”

Jason jerked a stiff nod, and some of the tension bled away as his shoulders relaxed back.

“But I want you to stay as more than just a ranch hand.” Roy slowly reached for Jason’s forearm again, watched how Jason’s eyes tracked his touch but didn’t pull away. “I like your company. I like your company _a lot_." Roy’s fingers flexed around Jason’s forearm in a meaningful squeeze before easing to a careful hold. With a tender stroke of his thumb along the pulse in Jason’s wrist, Roy said with firm conviction, “I want you to stay as a partner.”

Roy hoped the implication of his words was enough; and by the quiet hitch of Jason’s breath and the dusting of color to his cheeks and neck, he figured they were.

With one last careful stroke over Jason’s quickening pulse, Roy pulled his hand away. The last thing he wanted was to corner Jason like a prey animal and force an answer out of him. No, Jason needed to come to his own conclusion without the pressure of Roy’s intense stare or the heavy expectations that lingered from his words.

“Just think about it, okay?” Roy said. He stepped past Jason and clapped a hand to his unwounded shoulder. “I’ll wait for your answer.”

He left Jason in the mouth of the alley—gave him that little bit of space before they had to hit the trail again—and headed back to where they tied their horses by the saloon. He ducked inside and took a seat at one of the tables in the corner. Jason would come find him when he was ready to leave.

* * *

Jason was oddly quiet. Or maybe not so, considering Roy had asked him to think about it; and by the deep furrow creasing his brow, Jason had indeed done nothing but stew over Roy’s words.

When they found a spot to camp for the night, they both attended to their horses in a peaceful quietness. Roy unbuckled the girth and hooked his arms beneath the saddle blanket to pull the tack from the stallion’s back. He set it all down at the stump of a tree and rifled through his saddle bag for a worn, stiff-bristled brush.

He returned to the stallion’s side, stroking a hand down its face when the horse nosed at him. He moved to stand at the horse’s shoulder, and it truly was something of awe to be in the shadow of such a thickly muscled beast that towered above him. Roy was no stranger to draft horses; he’d both ridden and driven mammoth Belgians and Percherons. But the noble air of this Baroque stallion—the gracefulness of its might, the image of a warhorse—was enough to make Roy feel like a little kid staring up at his first horse, where the excitement thrumming through his veins was laced with the fear of falling off for the first time. It was enthralling, invigorating.

It made him feel alive.

Roy touched his palm to the stallion’s neck, resting it against the delicate fur near its ear, and brushed long strokes over the stallion’s coat. He was methodical in his care. He brushed through the patches of sweaty fur where the saddle had darkened the stallion’s dapples. So captivated by this stallion—light hums of a tune rumbling in his chest—Roy didn’t hear the quiet crunch of twigs and pebbles beneath Jason’s boots as he approached.

Jason stopped behind Roy, leaving an arm’s length separating them, and for a long moment, he simply listened to the rumbling tune that had no rhythm. Off pitch and too slow in its beat, yet Jason thought he recognized the song. But right then, he didn’t have the thought capacity to narrow down its name, because the only one that flooded his head was Roy.

His fingers flexed at his sides; and Jason could feel their slight tremble but couldn’t make it stop. He fisted them around his belt and held on for dear life.

He almost didn’t want to interrupt Roy. The man seemed so happy to be lost in the moment with his horse. And with the setting sun streaming in patches of orange and red through the tree branches—the moon’s crescent face pale as a ghost as it slowly awoke—the scene was that of one painted onto a canvas and hung in stately manors. It was a commissioned piece to be framed with gold and handed down through the generations as a priceless work of art—an heirloom to be cherished.

The stallion raised its head and turned its attention to Jason; and Roy’s gaze followed the horse’s. Jason sucked in a quiet gasp, because he wasn’t ready. Shit, he wasn’t prepared for those emerald eyes to be so soft and for those chapped lips of Roy’s to upturn so endearingly—sweetly—at spotting Jason standing there.

“Uh…” Jason’s palms grew sticky with sweat, and his knuckles whitened as he grasped tighter at his belt. “About me staying on… with you.” Jason swallowed, and oh god, he could tear his hair out at the roots right now; he felt so stupidly awkward. But Roy didn’t leer at or mock him. Instead, Roy’s gaze glinted with hope—shining like the faint smattering of stars that dotted the darkening sky, mirrored in the splash of freckles on Roy’s cheeks.

With a deep inhale that only shuddered once within his chest, Jason softly said, “I think I’d like that. You, I mean. I, uh…” He sighed heavily—a hot breath of air like a snorting bull—and he reached up to rake a frustrated hand through his hair. How had Roy put it? “I like your company a lot, too,” he muttered, eyes drifting to the side as he rubbed at the flush of heat on his neck.

The dull thud of the brush hitting the ground drew back Jason’s stare, and when he looked up to see Roy’s smile—wide and absolutely beaming, brilliant in all the ways Jason couldn’t describe—Jason’s breath stilled in his lungs. Too afraid to gasp or even move a slight millimeter, Jason watched Roy close the distance between them in two small, deliberate steps.

Roy slowly raised his arm—giving Jason every opportunity to back away, but Jason was rooted to the spot, couldn’t stumbled backwards even if he wanted to, and he didn’t; he truly didn’t—and reached his hand to cup Jason’s cheek. Tender strokes of his thumb over the scarred brand had Jason exhaling a contented little sigh—eyelids slipping closed—as he leaned into the touch.

When his eyes languidly blinked open, Roy pressed forward. Slowly, carefully, still trying to feel each other out, Roy tipped his head so he could slot his lips against Jason’s in a short, careful kiss.

Jason’s hands snuck to Roy’s waist, and his fingers tangled in the loops of Roy’s belt. When Roy pulled back slightly, they stared at each other with the same magic in their eyes—hope that glistened in its intensity, a touch of uncertainty; a tenderness that was foreign to Jason and different from what Roy knew in the past, something more special, elusive, that which wasn’t given away so easily.

As Roy watched the fluttering blink of Jason’s lashes, he stroked his hand higher along Jason’s jaw, slotting his fingers behind his ear and rubbing the pad of his thumb along his cheekbone. “Is this okay?” he asked, the hot breath of the whisper warming Jason’s lips.

Jason smiled—and Roy felt the uplifting joy beneath his touch—and nodded. “Yeah,” he said, voice rough and raspy in its blissful tone. “It’s more than okay.” And Jason leaned forward, tilting his head to capture Roy’s lips in a deeper kiss. He yanked Roy even closer by his belt, and Roy laughed into the kiss—the laughter quickly swallowed between them—before Roy’s hand slipped further into Jason’s hair.

When Jason parted for breath—panting and flushed with feverish heat, eyes lidded and dazed—he gasped in a shuddering breath of air. “I… I don’t know what I’m—”

“It’s okay,” Roy said. He tipped forward onto his toes and pressed a sweet kiss to Jason’s forehead, relishing in the sputtering garble of sounds that Jason couldn’t formulate into words. When Roy leaned back, he slipped his hand to Jason’s neck and kneaded the cord of the muscle, marveling as Jason quieted like a stray kitten being pet—loved—for the first time. “There’s no rush. We can take this slow.”

Jason’s bottom lip curled inward between the bite of his teeth, and he jerked a stiff nod. It was all so new for Jason. He wasn’t used to gentle, tender touches, calloused as they were. Even in his boyhood, Jason never knew the warmth of an embrace. It had always been sharp smacks and bruises, blossoming aches and pains that colored his skin in deep purples and sickly greens and yellows. But where Roy touched him—so careful and light, soothing strokes and firm kneading—Jason felt a heat that enveloped him like the softest of blankets. Roy’s touch felt safe, and there wasn’t a single other person Jason could say that about.

Jason blinked hard against the moisture he felt pooling in his eyes. He was not some sappy bastard, or at least, he never thought he was. He leaned forward and dropped his head to Roy’s shoulder. Slowly, his fingers let go of Roy’s belt, and his hands slid higher up Roy’s back, grasping at his shirt. When Roy tucked his chin against Jason’s hair and wrapped his embrace around Jason’s shoulders—holding him so tenderly—Jason squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face further into the crook of Roy’s neck. The trembling that quaked his shoulders had Jason grasping tighter at Roy, but despite the aching press of Jason’s fingers between his shoulder blades, Roy didn’t let go. He held Jason closer, firmer, enveloping him in the warmth of Roy’s heart and promising to never hurt him without uttering a single word.

* * *

Jason gawked as the forested trail—ponderosa pines towering into the clouds, hundreds of years of growth making them mighty and strong—opened up to the pale blue sky and a wide, dirt path that cut beneath an overhanging sign. _Red Arrow Ranch_ was written on it, and hanging beneath it by two thick ties of rope was a smaller sign that read _Mustangs_. Jason twisted in his saddle as he passed under it to grin back at Roy. “You’ll have to update your signs,” he said.

“I suppose so.” Roy actually already had one painted and prepared. He only needed to drag out a ladder to hang it. But he wasn’t focused on that. With a quiet click of his tongue, his stallion quickened to a trot and then eased back to walk beside Jason.

Roy watched the wonder and awe as Jason took in Roy’s homestead. Felled by Roy’s own hands—until they were slick with sweat and blood, blisters that popped and ached and hardened to callouses on his palms—the serene meadow had been carved out of the earth, and its wood built Roy’s house and barn, the corral and fences that stretched behind the barn into the pine trees. Through their trunks, a small herd of horses idly grazed, and a little bay yearling lifted its head and whinnied at Roy and Jason’s arrival.

The whole place was real homey. Domestic in a way Jason never knew. From the paint on the barn to the blossoms of flowers in boxes that hung beneath the windows of the house, this property was cared for and loved in a way the rundown shack from his childhood never was.

Roy rode the stallion to the corral before dismounting. Jason followed, and he looped his horse’s reins around one of the corral’s planks before opening the gate for Roy. Roy was quick in pulling the saddle from the stallion’s back and draping it over the corral. He led the stallion through the gate before pulling off its bridle. The stallion dropped its bit from its mouth to Roy’s hand before trotting to the other end of the corral and whinnying at the herd of mustangs.

Roy stepped out of the corral, and Jason swung its gate shut. Lifting a boot to its bottom rung, Jason crossed his arms on the fence and leaned forward. “It’s nice, Roy,” he said, softly gazing at the stallion. “It’s real nice.”

When he felt a hand touch his hip, Jason turned around. With his back pressed to the corral, he met Roy’s intense stare; and he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to those green eyes and their golden flecks gazing at him like he was someone to be cherished, _loved_.

As Roy reached to touch Jason’s jaw—tipping Jason’s chin—Jason closed his eyes and settled a hand at Roy’s hip. When Roy leaned in, he pressed a kiss to the corner of Jason’s lips, feeling the man grin and puff out a mirthful chuckle.

“You missed.”

“No, I didn’t,” Roy said, and he peppered another kiss higher to the tip of Jason’s nose. Jason sputtered and swiped at Roy’s arm, reeling back with an indignant scowl. But Roy followed him, laughing as he kissed his lips, feeling Jason melt into it. And when they parted, it was with heated breath ghosting each other’s skin, holding each other at their hips and bowing forward until the world shrunk to just the two of them.

But the world was more than just Jason and Roy, and the quiet creak of the quaint two-story house’s front door opening reminded them of that. Jason stiffened, but Roy merely tipped a gaze over his shoulder with a curious arch of a brow. When he spotted the little girl in a pink buttoned shirt and jean overalls tucked into cowboy boots running across the yard to them, Roy’s lips stretched impossibly wide in a beaming grin. His hands fell away from Jason, and he turned to catch the whirlwind of a child as she launched herself at him with a boisterous cry of “Papa!”

“Hey there, Buckaroo!” Roy laughed, watery and thick, as he held Lian at arm’s length and spun her in a few quick circles. She kicked out her legs and squealed with laughter, and when Roy tucked her close to his side, she latched onto his neck and smacked a wet kiss to his cheek.

Lian nuzzled her face against her father’s neck before popping up and leaning back, only held up by Roy’s arms. She shoved her little hands against the scruff of Roy’s beard and looked him dead in the eye. “I missed you soooo much, Papa!”

“I missed you, too, sweet pea,” Roy said with a rumbling chuckle. He ducked forward to kiss her nose, and Lian batted at his face with peals of laughter. “Were you a good girl for Dick and Kori?”

“Yep!” she chirped, smile crooked and mischievous, the smatter of freckles across her nose endearing to that picture of innocence.

With an arched eyebrow, Roy hummed. He gently brushed the long, silky black bangs out of her eyes, and looked over her head to where Dick and Kori stood watching.

“Welcome back,” Dick greeted, an odd smile arching his lips. His gaze flicked past Roy to the man standing behind him. With a teasing leer, he said, “Seems you brought home more than just a stallion.”

Ah, Roy thought, they’d been caught. He didn’t much care, but as he looked back at Jason—stiff and bristled with a dark flush coloring his neck and ears—he figured Jason did. But Roy didn’t have time to explain or introduce Jason to everyone, because Lian pushed at his cheek to lean around him, and her eyes bulged with new glee at seeing the man she’d yet to notice.

She insistently patted at her father’s cheek and stared at Jason with such intensity that Jason ducked his head and tilted his scarred cheek away from her view. But Lian wasn’t concerned about his scars or even his deep scowl. Her cheeks were dimpled with her crooked grin as she asked, “Do I get to name him, too?”

A beat of bewildered silence was broken by deep chuckles and guffaws. Even Jason snorted a breath while Lian puzzled a frown. She didn’t think her question was that funny.

“No, no, sweetie,” Roy said through breaths of laughter. “He’s got a name. This is Jason.”

“Jason,” Lian repeated very seriously. She stared at the man until he fidgeted beneath her eyes—a beautiful hazel, the hint of her father’s green shining through. Kicking her legs and wiggling her body, she pushed against Roy until he slackened his grip enough to let her slip to the ground.

Focused and determined, she marched right up to Jason and tipped her head back to stare up at him. Jason stumbled back, feeling the press of the corral’s fence and realizing he was trapped between it and a very intense five-year-old. When she lifted both arms up and stared at him expectantly, he frowned down at her. It wasn’t until she gestured with impatient, grabby fingers that he figured out what she wanted.

Uncertain and searching, his gaze flicked to Roy, and the man merely shrugged his shoulders and grinned at him. Jason looked back down at Lian, and he slowly bent to pick her up. The moment he had his hands securely under her armpits, she latched onto his neck and wrapped her legs around his torso.

With a careful touch to Jason’s cheek—palm right over the scarred brand—she stared straight into Jason’s wavering eyes and beamed. Crooked and toothy—just like her father—she patted Jason’s cheek. “Jayjay,” she said matter-of-factly, leaving no room for argument and being quite smug in finding a loophole around Jason already having a name.

Breathlessly, Jason laughed. His lips parted in a smile, quivering and shaky before it settled on his lips. Slowly, hesitantly, he said as gently as he could, but with his voice, it still came out rough, “And you must be Lian.”

The little girl gasped. She twisted to gape at her father before swiveling her gaze back to Jason. She blushed and beamed and was ever so proud that this new person she got to meet already knew her name like some kind of magic wizard from her bedtime stories.

So endearingly sweet and adorable, Jason’s heart melted at how exuberant and expressive this bubbly little girl in his arms was. He should’ve expected nothing less from Roy’s kid; but he honestly didn’t know what to expect at all. But to have his heart so easily swayed by her dimpled smile, he wondered if he truly was just a big softie deep down.

“I heard you get to name the stallion your father and I brought home,” Jason said, and the reminder had Lian bracing herself against Jason’s shoulders and stretching to peer over his head. He winced at the slight ache of his healing wound, but he waved off Roy’s concern before Roy could scold Lian.

“Papa, Papa!” Lian called. “I wanna pet him! Can I pet him?”

With a softly tilted gaze, Roy smiled tenderly at his daughter. But when his eyes flicked to meet Jason’s, that smiled arched higher and a gleam of mischief sparkled in the emerald of his eyes. “Maybe if you ask Jayjay nicely, he’ll take you in there to pet him.”

Jason narrowed a glare at Roy, but the man only smirked wider. And when Lian tapped his cheek to regain his full attention, Jason’s irritation melted away like ice beneath the blazing sun. Rounded, innocent eyes batted up at him, and she didn’t have to utter a single word before he turned for the latch of the gate, adjusting her against his hip so he could open it and slide inside.

Roy watched as Jason carried his daughter over to the stallion. With a beautifully arched neck, the stallion sniffed at Lian’s outstretched hand, and just like he had taught her, Lian remained quiet and still. When the stallion huffed out a stream of hot breath over her fingers, Lian giggled and reached to touch its nose. So gentle, she stroked tiny little pets, growing more confident until she leaned out of Jason’s arms to scratch higher on the stallion’s head.

With both hands pressed to the horse’s face, she turned to Jason and babbled something that had him carrying her around to the stallion’s side. She touched at the horse’s dapples and leaned so far out of Jason’s arms that she lay practically draped across the stallion’s back. But Jason never let go of her. Even when she scrambled to sit on the horse’s back, Jason kept an arm wrapped around her waist to pull her off at a moment’s notice.

The care that Jason showed with his daughter—the lost little darts of his eyes toward Roy every time Lian babbled something at him, constantly checking to make sure it was okay, that Roy was comfortable with Lian sitting on the stallion—made Roy’s knees weak. He stumbled forward a step to lean against the corral, because he honestly thought he might swoon and end up flat on his ass.

Because that image he dreamt of back in El Paso—seeing Jason tenderly stroking the stallion’s face and thinking Lian was the only thing missing—was right before his eyes, and it was more beautiful than anything Roy could’ve imagined.

The slight scuffle of steps sounded beside Roy, but he didn’t tear his gaze away from Jason and Lian. On either side, Dick and Kori sandwiched him between their shoulders, and Dick good-naturedly elbowed him in the ribs. “So you went out for a horse and came back with a man,” Dick teased.

Roy jolted. “I have the horse, too!” he said with a sharp jab of his elbow to Dick’s arm. His gaze narrowed as he glared at Dick.

The man looked unimpressed, and with a purse of his lips, he hummed. “Mhmm.” Long and low, drawn out with the deep rumbling of his chest. “And pray tell, how did you come across—”

“Papa! Papa!” Bless his little girl, she silenced Dick before the real ribbing could start. With eager waves, she demanded all their attention. “Jayjay and I named him!”

Jason sputtered before Roy could even acknowledge his daughter, turning desperately wide eyes at him, “It was all her! I swear!” But Lian shushed him with a pat of his cheek, and Jason quieted with a huffed snort.

“Oh, yeah?” Roy called back with a curious grin, ignoring Jason’s little outburst. “And what’d you two decide on?”

Lian beamed, her cheeks rosy and dimpled. “Buttons! Cause he’s got buttons all over his butt!”

The newly named stallion lightly pranced in place, blowing hot snorts and pawing at the dirt. Jason steadied Lian atop Buttons, but she just fisted her little hands in the stallion’s silky black mane and giggled with each bounce.

Her laughter echoed in the stableyard, and it mingled with the muted chuckles at the stallion’s name. Roy supposed it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. At least, she didn’t name him Sprinkles.

Although, as Roy stared out at his little girl and Jason—seeing how Lian had this rugged, burly man wrapped around her little pinky—he would’ve accepted even the silliest of names for this stallion. Sunshine or Polka Dots, Spots or Sprinkles. It didn’t matter what they called this Baroque stallion. Because no matter its name, it fulfilled Roy’s dream in a way Roy never would’ve imagined. This horse gave Roy more than he could’ve wished for.

And for that—for Jason—Roy would forever be grateful to a stallion named Buttons.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this incredibly self-indulgent fic of mine <3 You can find me @JaeCillian on twitter


End file.
